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MEMORIAL VOLUME 



BEING SELECTIONS 



IT^ POETET AND PROSE 



From the Written Thoughts of 



COL. ALONZO W. SLAYBACK, 



Including a Brief 



BIOaRAPHICAL SKETCH. 



ST. LOUIS, MO.: 

J. H. CHAMBERS & CO., 405 North Third Street, 

1883,. 



ERRATA. 



Page 56, 5th line from top - speeds not spreads. 

" 57, 1st line from top ye not we. 

" 57, 3rd line from top the not thy. 

" 92, after 1st line, insert "Brought them back to dawn." 

" 93, 4tli line from bottom adored not deplore. 

" 100, 5th line from bottom thine not there. 

" 125, 5th line from top Well.' not Nell! 

" 126, 5th line from top my lonely not her lovely. 

" 152, 3rd line from top Spurned not Scoi'ned. 

" 156, 7th line from top One not The. 

" 170, 13th line from top Hood not Wood. 

" 193, after 5th verse of poem, insert : 

'' But cheers arose, and found his voice, 

The multitude expressed their choice 

In tones so plain, that rake began 

To swear he'd rule all or none." 

Page 194, 1st line 2d verse Like not The. 

" 201, 8th line from top I'uot Z. 

" 203, 1st line All mouldy not He moulded . 

" 213, 2nd line from top hues not lines. 

" 216, 7th line from bottom .freemen not foemen. 

'• 218, 2nd line from top thirsfybird not lilflebird. 

" 225, 2nd line from top summed not summon. 

" 237, 3rd line from top Four not For. 



Contents. 



Preface 

Biographical Sketch 11 

Juvenile Poems— 

Public Speech 37 

The Snow Battle 38 

Impressions 42 

Valentine— To M. P. B U 

Lines Written In An Album 45 

To 46 

Porget-Me-Not 47 

To Miss Mary Walton 47 

To Miss Bella McC^^ — d 49 

To Pannie S (A Valentine'' 49 

Uu Sequitur— To P 50 

Top 51 

To Tillie Kussell. 54 

To "Pleasant Retreat" - 55 

From Orlie 57 

The Recollected Image 58 

The Nameless — Unnamed 59 

Hatred 61 

Man's Inconstancy 62 

Pate 63 

Moonlight Thoughts 64 

Friends ! Bah ! 65 

To My Books 66 

Choice for Life 67 

Lines (After Leaving an Pxhibition) 68 

A Tress of Hair 70 



A Stormy Niglit iu the Court House 71 

To AUie During Estrangement 73 

The Old Grove (Song) 74 

The Old Oak Tree 75 

To Orlie 77 

Who Had the Bill to Pay? 79 

An Old Teacher 80 

To the Preachers (Written iu an Album) 81 

Reflections 82 

Written When a Stranger 84 

Missouri River ' 85 

Straj'ing Thoughts 86 

Love 87 

Charity S9 

Death of a Little Gu-1 91 

A False One 92 

Song 93 

To Allie 94 

To A. W 95 

Memories 9G 

Realities — Sober Realities 98 

To 100 

To J. T 101 

Passion 102 

To 1 03 

To J 104 

Discontent 104 

A Valentine for Alice 105 

Your Picture 1 OG 

Expectation 108 

To "Miss Anna Stebbs 109 

Tlie Restless Foot 110 

The Recording Angel 1 1 1 

Paying the Preacher 11-' 

On Hearing of Father Gary's Death 114 

To Allie 115 

MiSCELI.ANKOUS POKMS — 

^ A Captive Missourian's Sigh 1 1 <" 

A. Jones 1 1 ** 

Stray Thoughts 120 



COur Elag 121 

To Allie 121 

C The Missouri Exile (Song) 123 

C Soldier's Lament 12-1 

C Letters From Home 125 

The Past 127 

To Allie 128 

C The Soldier's Dying Whisper 130 

Song for the "Missouri'' 131 

Rosy Wine 132 

Farewell (To Cousin Lou) 133 

The News From Home 135 

Purification 135 

I Sigh for Thee (Song) 13G 

To Allie 1 38 

CThe Burial of Shelby's Flag 1 39 

C Our Invaders 142 

To Allie 144 

Not For Me 144 

Home and Loved Ones 14G 

To The Belle of Missouri 14G 

To 147 

To My Daughter Susie 149 

C Decking Southern Soldiers' Graves 151 

C To Jefferson Davis in Prison 153 

Contrasts in City Life 155 

Our Dead 157 

C Sterling Price 158 

*^ The Union Soldier fF. P. B.) 184 

•'Umbije Noctis" 185 

Good In Seeming Evil 187 

C To Our Southern Belles 188 

Consolation 190 

Epitaph to be Placed on My Tomb 191 

Thoughts of Heaven 191 

Sad Story in Verse of "The Dog and the Rake" 192 

Q Decoration Day at Arlington — 194 

Yearnings 197" 

Strivings 198 

In an Album 199 



The Best 200 

El Leou Pencido Porel Hombre 200 

A Sunday Evening Keverie 202 

Jabez L. North 204 

To 205 

Home — Sunday 206 

Arcana 207 

To a Fifteenth Amendment Politician 207 

Lines (To an Imaginary Being) 208 

Masonic College, Lexington, Mo 20t) 

Saint Joseph 210 

The Raindrop 212 

Beauties of the Sky 215 

Blair's Pirst Speech in the Senate 215 

The Mountain Spring 217 

The Teetotaler's Ideal Bibatiou 218 

A Pure Man 220 

The Adieu of a Graduate 221 

The Ideal 223 

Imagiuarj'- (Another Tear) 223 

In Memor jr of Charles R. Davis 22G 

A Coquette 227 

Wish You My Name 228 

Aspiration 22'J 

To a Prettj^ Teacher of the Prench Language 229 

Too Swift 231 

Betrayal 232 

To. an Imaginary Correspondent 233 

My Shrine 234 

Indian Summer 237 

Arthur Barrett's Funeral 238 

A Curiosity of Rhyme 23!) 

The Dead Judge 241 

Tlie Undertaker 243 

The Departed 244 

Some Mistaken Prophecies 244 

Grief 24G 

Inuiginary 24(! 

A Common Lot 247 

Unrest 248 



Anticipation 250 

Lake Minnetonka 251 

To 252 

Unsatisfied 252 

On Eeading Faces 253 

To My Daughter Minnette 256 

To A. V. C. Schenck 257 

To Darling Grace 257 

Be Merry 258 

Fret Not 258 

Home Pleasures (To Mabel) 259 

De Mortuis Nil 259 

There's Nothing in this Vale of Tears 260 

To a Learned Atheist 261 

To Sleep 262 

Found in "• Demosthenes " 263 

Knowledge 2G4 

Man, a Contradiction 265 

To My Daughter Katie 266 

Speak Gently 266 

To John F. Darby 267 

What Pleases God 352 

Youth 376 

Stray Thoughts 269 

Addresses — 

Decoration of Soldiers' Graves (May 30, 1873.) 274 

Womanly Ambition 292 

Leagued Lawyers 311 

The Study of Nature 321 

The Study of Art 353 



Preface. 



Col. Slayback's widow lias here put into per- 
manent form many of the lyrics which he left 
behind ; not only to do honor to her husband's 
memory, but to give pleasure to his many friends 
who crave copies. 

Some of these poems have been printed before ; 
but only a very few were intended for publica- 
tion. They are but the sparkles of his life, 
translated into language — written, because the 
feeling of the moment moved him to catch the 
fleeting fancy, and fasten it in his flight. 

Simply, 

"He sat him down, and seized a pen, and traced 
Words" — 

which open windows of the soul, through which 

one may look into a heart that moved from 

deeper depths than the world supposed. 

They date from boyhood, and run along with 

all the years of his unfinished life. Love and 



pMlosophy, faitli and whimsy, the grave and the 
gay, will all be found here : and they help to 
show the sunlight that shone upon his daily 
path ; or to picture the shadows that drifted by 
in quicker, or more stately measure, as the clouds 
that made them, gathered within the sphere of 
his most sensitive nature, to settle for a time, or 
to lift away as quickly as they came. To all 
emotions he was ever ready to respond — and 
these their voicings are his antiphons. 

Many who knew him less intimately than those 
to whom he opened all his heart, will be sur- 
prised to find upon these pages a revelation of 
great tenderness of spirit ; while all will recog- 
nize the frankness of the bold and honest heart, 
which knew no fear. A profound reverence, as 
well, displays itself for sacred things. 

These memorials of the man will be gladly 
welcomed by his comrades, and his friends, now 
that he has passed forever 

" Beyond the frost chain, and the fever, 
Beyond the rock waste, and the river, 
Beyond tlie ever, and the never." 

P. G. R. 



Biographical Sketch, 



The writer responds with all the warmth of 
friendship to Mrs. Slayback's request to con- 
tribute a biographical sketch of her husband, to 
be published with his poems, and yet it is a duty 
not easily performed. 

To undertake the analysis and portrayal of the 
character of any man, in a few pages, is a vain 
attempt — ^how much more so in the case of one as 
gifted as Alonzo W. Slayback. Only the salient 
facts of his life will therefore be presented ; as- 
sured that the reader will generously appreciate 
the marked characteristics which made his career 
brilliant, endeared him to his friends, and com- 
manded the respect of his opponents. 

He is pronounced by all who knew him to have 



been a noble man, full of generous impulses, 
brilliant in intellect, brave in danger, courageous 
under trial, and tender as a woman in his sym- 
pathies ; abounding in charity, munificent in 
gifts ; a true and steadfast friend. 

Alonzo William Slayback was born July 4, 
1838, at Plum Grove, Marion County, Mo., the 
homestead of his maternal grandfather. He was 
a direct descendant, on his mother's side, of the 
Countess Susanna Lavillon and Bartholemi Du- 
puy, Royal Guardsman to Louis XIY., whose 
tragic persecution, marvelous escape from France 
and safe arrival on the shores of Virginia, are 
familiar to the lover of history. The revocation 
of the Edict of Nantes gave birth to the romantic 
career of those two renowned Huguenots, Bar- 
tholemi Dupuy and Jacques de la Fontaine. 

On reaching Virginia, in 1700, Bartholemi Du- 
puy joined the Fontaines and Trabues, friends 
who had preceded him, settling in Manakin Town, 
on the banks of the James river, where he re- 
sided until his death. When dying, he bequeathed 
to his eldest son Jacques tlie triangular sword 
which had served him in fourteen battles in Flan- 



ders, and Ms son at Guilford Court-House, and 
it still remains a legacy in Ms family in Virginia. 

The maternal grandparents of Alonzo W. 
Slay back were Jeremiah A. ,Minter (who still 
lives, at the age of 86) and Sallie Minter (nee 
McDowell), both of Kentucky. Sallie McDowell's 
father was a son of Colonel Samuel McDowell, an 
officer of the American army in the war of the 
Revolution. The McDowells were of Scotch des- 
cent. His paternal great grandfather, Solomon 
Slayback, was a soldier under Washington — 
one of the Jersey recruits from near Princeton, 
N. J. Originally the Slaybacks were from Am- 
sterdam, Holland. Dr. Abel Slayback, of Cin- 
cinnati, Ohio, was the son of Solomon Slayback 
and father of Alexander Lambdin Slayback, of 
whom the subject of this sketch was the eldest 
child. Thus it is seen he was descended from 
patriots on both sides, and the noble character- 
istics of his ancestors shone out grandly in him. 

The father of A. W. Slayback was a lawyer. 
He removed to Lexington, Mo., and died at the 
early age of thirty years, leaving a widow and 
four children, three sons and one daughter. 



13 



The early education of the children was con- 
ducted by the mother. To her judicious train- 
ing Alonzo was greatly indebted for the true 
development of the native elements of character 
that made him a peer among men. 

Having completed his preparatory studies, he 
was placed at the age of ten in the Masonic Col- 
lege, then presided over by that distinguished 
divine. Rev. Adiel Sherwood, D, D., where he 
pursued a full collegiate course, graduating June, 
1856, at eighteen, with the first honors in a class 
of seven. His earliest ambition was to become a 
lawyer, and during the last four years of his 
college course his studies were directed to this 
end. After leaving college, he went to St. 
Joseph, Mo., where he alternately taught school 
and studied law. This early struggle, with its 
wholesome experiences, served to bring out his 
native energy, quicken his assiduity, and develop 
that self-reliance which was a material factor in 
lifting him to the fame and position he so justly 
won. In September, 1857, he was admitted to 
practice by Judge Norton at St. Joseph. Here 
he enjoyed the friendship of two very estimable 



men, Bela M. Hughes (with whom he studied 
law) and the Rev. A. Y. C. Schenck — diverse 
in their character, yet both noble and worthy- 
men. Their influence had much to do in shap- 
ing the young lawyer's mental and moral nature. 
His first law partner was Joseph P. Grubb, now 
judge of the Circuit Court, Buchanan County 
Circuit. He was married April 14, 1859, to Miss 
Alice A. Waddell, daughter of Wm. B. Waddell, 
of Lexington. 

In the war between the States he enlisted in 
the Confederate service. Born on Southern soil, 
surrounded from childhood with Southern in- 
fluences and habits, loving his native section 
with an ardor that outstripped his love of life, 
he did not hesitate for a moment, but promptly 
took the side that to him was right. In June, 
1861, he joined the command of Gen. Sterling 
Price. In July, venturing in from the camp to 
see his wife, the house was surrounded and he 
was taken prisoner, and put on a boat at the 
river until the fort at Masonic College was fln- 
ished, to which the prisoners were afterwards re- 
moved. After he had been in prison three weeks. 



lie asked the guard to accompany him to the 
spring near the fort. The prisoner carried a 
bucket, and the guard his gun. At the spring 
the guard, thinking his prisoner was stooping to 
get water, was unprepared for the blow the young 
man gave him with the bucket. Mr. Slayback, 
knowing every inch of the ground from childhood, 
ran quickly down the hill, and escaped the bullets 
that were sent after him by the astonished guards. 
Wandering through the woods during the night, 
he reached the house of Mrs. Young the next 
morning, who gave him shoes and socks, and a 
horse for his journey. After the battle at Lex- 
ington in September, 1861, he was elected Colonel 
of the Missouri A^olunteers, and commissioned by 
Gov. Caleb Jackson. When General Price was 
ordered into the regular service of the Confed- 
eracy east of the Mississippi river, Col. Slayback 
enlisted for " three years or during the war." 

Soon after he was appointed Capt. of Ordnance 
under Gen. Martin E. Green. 

At the battle of Elkhorn he was assigned the 
command of a regiment hastily called together, 
made up partly of State volunteers and of Con- 



federate troops. In this engagement Col. Slay- 
back and Ms men did good service. They were 
then tranferred east of the Mississippi line, and 
he was promoted for meritorious conduct at 
Corinth and Farmington. He was ordered west 
of the Mississippi again, to recruit with Col. 
Waldo P. Johnson and other officers, and to re- 
port to Gen. Hindman, who assigned him to duty 
with the calvary at the front. When starting 
on Shelby's raid into Missouri, he was taken 
sick and left behind. During the month of 
November, 1863, Mrs. Slayback, who was with 
her father at Lexington, beard from some of the 
returned soldiers that her husband had been left 
by Shelby's command in Boston Mountains, 
dying with typhoid fever. 

She decided to leave home, friends and her 
young child, to go to him. Federal bayonets, 
untried dangers, grave difficulties, all were pow- 
erless to alter the determination of the wife to 
reach her husband. Refused a permit to pass 
the Federal lines, she was compelled to accept 
"banishment papers," which she did without 
hesitation. Death only could keep her from 



ministering to her husband's comfort in his sick- 
ness. In company with Mrs. Isaac Ruflfner, she 
landed at Napoleon, Arkansas, and by the kind 
assistance of a gentleman travelling the same 
way, after many hardships, reached Washington, 
Ark., only to find that Col. Slayback had been 
removed to Shreveport, La. Following on as 
quickly as possible, Col. Cundiff conducted Mrs. 
Slayback to the hospital, where she found her 
husband, unable to lift his head from the pillow. 
The soldier rallied under the inspiration of his 
wife's presence. He was soon removed to Dr. 
Newman's, in Caddo parish, and in three months 
was nursed back to life and hope. 

In March, 1864, Gen. E. Kirby Smith, Com- 
mander of the Trans-Mississippi Department, 
made Col. Slayback bearer of special dispatches 
to Richmond, to the Secretary of War, Gen. 
Seddon, who commanded Gen. Smith to assign 
Capt. Slayback to duty in the line. By order of 
Gen. Smith he recruited a regiment of cavalry 
in Southeast Missouri, of which he was elected 
Colonel. This regiment, "The Slayback Lan- 
cers," was attached to Shelby's old brigade, and 
so remained until the close of the war. 



When it was known that Gen. Robt. E. Lee 
had surrendered at Appomattox, Gens. Price and 
Shelby decided to go into Mexico. Col. Slay- 
back joined them. The cause for which he had 
fought and which he believed to be just, the cause 
he had loved and so nobly defended, was lost. He 
felt he had no country, no home, and he deter- 
mined to seek one in a foreign land. Forty- 
eight of his old command chose to share his for- 
tunes. They formed themselves into a company, 
electing him Captain, and joined Gen. Shelby's 
expedition into Mexico. 

The expedition crossed the Rio Grande at Pie- 
dras Negras, in Mexico, where, on the 4th of 
July, 1865, they buried, in the waters of the swift 
rolling river, the last Confederate flag that floated 
to the breeze. 

Col. Slayback, on reaching Lampasas, Mexico, 
was again overtaken by a violent sickness. Re- 
covering after an illness of several days, he pur- 
sued his way to Monterey, which he reached July 
11th, where he remained until Sept. 16th, when he 
set out for the city of Mexico per diligence, 
stopping on his way at San Luis Potosi and 
several other minor towns. 



19 



He reached the city Oct. 8th. Here he was 
again taken sick, and lay for some days at the 
San Carlos Hotel. Gen. Thomas O'Horan, Pre- 
fect of the city of Mexico under Maximilian, 
hearing of the Colonel's condition, kindly sent 
his carriage and removed him to his residence, 
thirteen miles from the city, where every atten- 
tion possible was bestowed on the distinguished 
American. Here Col. Slayback remained until 
January 23rd, 1866, enjoying the hospitality of 
this noble gentleman, and perfecting himself in 
Spanish. 

Throughout his stay in Mexico, the Colonel 
kept a regular journal of his life, in the shape 
of letters to his absent wife — letters replete with 
love and devotion, interspersed with vivid de- 
scriptions of scenes and scenery through which 
he had passed; and of facts and records of 
the war, comments on men he had met, friends 
he had made and from whom in sadness he had 
parted. Colonel Slayback was one of the few 
busy men who found time to keep a full diary of 
his life. 

Just here we make a few extracts from his 



20 



journal: "Now in tlie meantime I am uneasy 
albout Ma. In a New Orleans Picayune of Jan. 
14tli I find, among the names of passengers who 
sailed the day before, ' Mrs. A. L. Slayback,' on 
board the British steamer Caroline, Capt. Hainby, 
Also Capt. Heber Price, who is at Carlotta, the 
colonial village, has received a letter from Mis- 
ouri for his father the General, which is marked 
' favor of Mrs, Slayback,' and mailed at Havana. 
I am puzzled over all this, but cannot doubt that 
Ma is on her way in quest of me, and has prob- 
ably stopped at Havana, hearing of my improved 
health." 

Leaving the city of Mexico Jan. 26th, he visited 
the Confederate colony at Cordova under Gens. 
Price and Shelby. Under date Feb. 9th he says : 
" I stopped to see how my American friends were 
prospering, and remained at the house of Gen. 
Shelby, where I feel very much at home. Mrs. 
S. and the children are here, and the General 
seems contented : is opening a farm, preparing to 
plant coffee and sugar, cotton and rice. The 
plantain and banana, with their broad tropical 
leaves and delicious clusters of fruit — the oranges 



and lemons, tlie mango and lime, pine-apple and 
palm — fill the air with delicious odors, and offer 
to the sight a constant variety of romantic and 
interesting scenery. As I came along the road 
the last morning I noticed the laborers gathering 
a red "berry that looked like cranberries, and saw 
them drying them in the sun on mats — afterwards 
collected in dark, withered heaps in their huts. 
I did not find out until I got here that this berry 
is the savory coffee, the beverage of the world. 
I shall go down to Vera Cruz to-morrow, and 
hasten to Havana as soon as possible." 

"Vera Cruz, Feb. 3. The America packet 
came in sight within an hour after we arrived, 
but will not sail on the 5th, its regular day, and 
shall have to wait again for the Spanish steamer, 
which sails on the 6th, and then takes six days 
to go through to Havana. This delay I submit 
to with a poor grace, for I have received positive 
news that Ma is at Havana awaiting me ; and 
my impatience, in the first place, to relieve her 
anxieties, and, secondly, to see her, knows no 
bounds. She has sent me a certificate of deposit 
for $150.00, through Mr. C. Markoe, a merchant 



of this place. I do not need it and will not use 
it, though I am pajdng the expenses of Capt. 
Jim Ward back to the States. I found him out 
of money at Cordova, working hard and hope- 
lessly, and anxious to go to his home, his mother 
and sisters. I knew how he felt, and placed my 
purse at his disposal. But just think of poor 
Ma, alone in that strange land, waiting— just 
waiting. I wonder often how she manages to 
pass the time. I know she must be unhappy ; 
but I expect she has her Bible and her knitting. 
I know too that she must be suffering at this 
moment renewed anxiety at my long delay." 

Passing over the beautiful description of his 
trip to Havana, which he reached on Feb. 11th, 
we will let him tell of the meeting with his 
mother. " After a short walk we reached Santa 
Isabel Hotel. I looked impatiently over the list 
of arrivals, and found that on the 17th of the 
month before was registered the name simply, 
' Mrs. Slayback.' Asked if she was still there. 
' Yes.' Sent up my card, and after waiting about 
twenty minutes in the parlor Ma came in, very 
little changed apparently in the five eventful 



23 



years which Tiad changed me so much. I felt 
that she had grown younger and I so much older. 
After the 'preliminary scene,' and all that, we 
had a conversation to the point. She urged me 
to go home. I did not wish to. She persisted 
that I must accompany her. I was induced to 
return with her, depending on the promise that 
you had made to me, that you and your child 
would return with me to my exile if I could not 
remain in that country." After a rough passage 
they reached 'New York Feb. 18th, where his 
mother parted from him, he going to Washington 
to receive a pardon from the government, and 
she returning to Missouri. 

July 21, 1866, Colonel Slayhack located in St. 
Louis, and renewed the practice of law. His 
success was grand and continued. He stood 
without a rival among the young lawyers of 
Missouri. The records of the various courts 
show that as a jury advocate he gained a larger 
and lost a smaller proportion of cases than any 
other active practitioner at the St. Louis Bar. 
Out of thirty- six cases in 1874, he appeared in 
twenty-five for defendant, gained nineteen, had 



24 



three hung juries, and lost only three. In eleven 
he appeared for plaintiff, and gained all but one, 
in which he was nonsuited. In 1873, out of more 
than forty cases, he lost only one. His knowl- 
edge of human nature, joined to his delicate tact 
and pleasing address, gave him thorough com- 
mand in the examining and cross-examining of 
witnesses. Persuasive and convincing, as an 
orator before a jury he stood pre-eminent. A 
contemporary says : " The style of his eloquence 
is peculiar and characteristic : with earnest force 
and persuasion he speaks to the heart and 
feelings, as well as to the sober reason of his 
hearers. When kindling with his subject, he 
becomes animated and rapid, his illustrations 
are most felicitous, and his logic thus embellished 
rarely fails to please and convince. By intense 
application to his studies in his profession, and 
a varied miscellaneous reading, he has not lost 
his fondness for the classics, but evinces in his 
daily work the advantage which is ever to be 
derived from the discipline their study gives." 

Col. Slayback was throughout his life a con- 
sistent Democrat. No consideration of emolu- 



25 



ment could have swerved him from his principles. 
Never a time server nor an oflBice seeker, he 
bore himself grandly before his fellow men with- 
out fear or reproach. He was a delegate from 
the Second Congressional District of Missouri to 
the Democratic Presidential Convention of 1876. 
In the same year he was the Democratic nominee 
of that district for Congress, but owing to an 
unhappy division in the party a Republican was 
elected over the two Democratic candidates. 

Col. Slayback served two terms as first; Yice- « 
President of the Bar Association of St. Louis, in 
1879-80 and 1880-81. Twice he was chosen Pres- 
ident of the Law Library Association by a large 
majority. Of the second election he said : "At the 
annual meeting of the St. Louis Law Library As- 
sociation this evening I was elected President by 
a vote of forty- two out of fifty- seven : there being 
two or three other candidates in the field, this was 
a very gratifying endorsement of my administra- 
tion, during which I have introduced some radi- 
cal changes in the management of the Law 
Library (which now consists of over 9,500 vol- 
umes), among which was closing the Library on 



26 



Sundays. I favored tMs because I thouglit 
working lawyers work enough on the six working 
days, and ought to rest on Sunday." He was a 
member of the University Club, the Merchants' 
Exchange, the Merchants' Benevolent Society, 
and of the Legion of Honor, No. 6. He was be- 
sides an honorary member of the Knights of 
St. Patrick, and also of the Elks Club. No 
man in St. Louis was more frequently called on 
for a speech on public occasions. But whether 
addressing a society, delivering a eulogy on the 
patriotic dead, standing before a school of young 
ladies inculcating the highest sentiments of true 
womanhood, presiding at a banquet, pleading 
with his countrymen in behalf of measures that 
would lead the nation on to prosperity, or stand- 
ing before a jury to urge the cause of right, he 
was ever the _^noble man, distinguished for hon- 
esty of purpose, full of generous impulses, con- 
vincing and captivating. 

It would be improper to omit in this brief 
sketch the most important index of a man's char- 
acter — his faith in Gfod. In the winter of 1881, 
Col. Slayback's only son, a child two years of age. 



was very sick for nine weeks. The illness of little 
Alonzo, together with the too rapid motion of his 
own heart, led him to serious reflection on the 
uncertainty of life, and the need of settling the 
question of the future on a basis that would im- 
part peace to his soul; for he had been taught the 
Bible from his earliest childhood by his christian 
mother. He was familiar with the great doc- 
trines of Christianity, and was a firm believer 
in the atonement of our Lord Jesus Christ and of 
man's need of salvation. He had a high rever- 
ence for the religion of those who manifested 
faith in God. He detested shams and shows ; and 
with his keen perceptive faculties, and rooted be- 
lief in the basal doctrines of the evangelical faith, 
he could readily detect departures from revealed 
truth. He knew error in whatever neological 
form it might present itself, and .he would tear 
away its specious covering and expose its native 
monstrosity. True himself, he had no counte- 
nance for that which is false. 

In June preceding his death, the question of 
preparation for the life to come fixed itself 
in his mind. He felt it to be of the greatest 



moment to him, liable as lie believed himself 
to sudden death, and often he would speak 
of the matter to his christian wife. Sometimes 
in tones of thoughtful sadness he would say : 
" I have put off too long these great questions 
that should long ago have engaged my attention 
and been settled by me," Were these feelings a 
presentiment of his early death ? 

Often he and his wife would kneel together, 
when in the most humble and contrite manner 
he would confess his sins, and He who ever hears 
the cry of the longing soul sent comfort to his 
anxious spirit. 

In August preceding his death, though assured 
by the physician that he did not suffer with any 
chronic trouble of the heart, but only needed 
rest, he visited Denver in quest of health, and 
to see his youngest brother, residing in that city. 
It was a pleasant sojourn to him. There he met 
relations and friends whom he had not seen for 
years — among them General Bela M. Hughes, his 
early friend and adviser. 

Yet it seems that amid all the happiness and 
diversion that surrounded him his mind was 
occupied with thoughts of death. 



Ascending tlie monntain one day with a friend 
lie grew quite dizzy, and turning spoke of it to 
the gentleman beside him. 

"Do not look back or below, but upward," 
said his friend, extending his hand to assist him. 
These words made a deep impression: "Not 
back or below, but upward." 

On his return home he related this little inci- 
dent to his wife, remarking : " I there saw and 
felt how sure and sweet it is to trust in the 
Savior who died for me." 

Yet he recoiled from the approach of death. 
Full of life, surrounded by a happy household, 
consisting of his devoted vnfe and six loving 
children, with a wide circle of true and admiring 
friends, in the very prime of manhood, it was but 
natural he should cling to an existence, so ra- 
diant with hope, so blessed with rich promise. 

On the day of his return from the West, he 
handed his wife this little poem (which he had 
clipped during his absence from a stray paper), 
remarking as he did so : " These lines are ex- 
pressive of my feelings :" 



30 



A LITTLE WHILE. 

A little while, and then the old, old story, 
Will be my answer to the fond word, Come ; 

A little while, and I shall see the glory 

That clusters round the bright, eternal home. 

A little while, if I have done my duty. 

The morn of life will break upon my sight ; 

A little while, and in fair robes of beauty 
I'll enter to that world of fadeless light. 

A little while to dwell in pain and sorrow, 
And give to others as I would receive ; 

And then the coming of the bright to-morrow 
With heavenly balm that will my soul relieve. 

A little while to tread the paths of sadness, 
And bear the cross a loving Savior bore ; 

A little while, and then the dawn of gladness 
Will waft the crown to me on Eden's shore. 

A little while to feel the tear-drops falling 
O'er those we love, now silent in decay; 

A little while, and angel voices calling 

Will raise their dust to see the charms of day. 

A little while to toil for wealth, ambition, 
And all the joys a life on earth can give ; 

A little while, and then the soul's condition — 
Oh ! shall it be for death ? in life to live ? 



A little while, and pangs of death will banish 
The name and riches we have gained on earth ; 

A little while, and pleasures all will vanish, 
Then we shall count them all of little worth. 

A little while, and o'er the silent river 

The boatman pale will speed his phantom bark ; 

A little while, and then the great Life-Giver 
Will rend the veil of desolation dark. 

A little while, and those in peaceful slumber 
Will hear the call to come and take the land ; 

A little while, and we may join the number 
Who by the throne of white forever stand. 

A little while, and we may see the glory, 
The kingly grandeur of the One who died ; 

A little while to tell the old, old story. 

And then go home to Christ, the Crucified. 

He was pleased to attend churcli if he expected 
to hear the simple gospel. He loved to listen to a 
sensible exposition of the scriptures. The Sun- 
day after his return from Denver, in company 
with his wife he attended St. John's Methodist 
church, and listened to a sermon from the Kev. 
Dr. Tudor. The subject was the parable of the 
sower and the seed, Matt. xiii. The discourse 
greatly pleased and deeply affected him. Mrs. 



Slayback, who had watched his development in 
the christian life with the sincerest interest and 
satisfaction, urged him to unite with some church, 
assuring him she would go with him wherever he 
might make choice. "We will join Mr. Robert's 
church," he said — the Holy Communion (Epis- 
copal). The Sunday previous to his death he 
said to Mrs. S. : " Let us go to hear Mr. Robert 
to-day. He is my old friend and is chaplain of 
our Lodge." Mr. Robert preached from Joshua's 
farewell to the Israelites. The sermon, which so 
graphically portrayed the earnest spirit of the 
departing leader, and so forcibly set before the 
listeners the necessity of forsaking idols and 
cleaving to the Lord our God, made a deep im- 
pression on the Colonel's mind ; and that evening, 
as he was leaving the house for a short time to 
see a friend, he turned to his wife and said : 
" Find that chapter for me, and put the book on 
my study table. I wish to read it before I go to 
bed. I have made idols of everything — my pro- 
fession, my familjT", my learning, my ambition, 
and I find them all as this '' — striking the ashes 
from the cigar he was smoking. On returning 



33 



lie read tlie chapter, remarking, as lie closed the 
Bible, "How beautiful!" 

The next morning, as the husband and wife 
knelt together for the last time, he prayed ear- 
nestly for forgiveness. He was enabled to yield 
up all to Christ. Then he implored God's bless- 
ing on his children. Before leaving the room he 
said : " Do not correct the little ones ; only pray 
with them." 

The last week of his life was an unusually 
busy one, but he spent Wednesday evening with 
his family. Showing his books to some of the 
older children he remarked : " These will be a 
legacy to you, my children, from me." He idol- 
ized his children, especially his only boy, little 
Alonzo, the youngest. 

Friday morning he descended to the breakfast 
room looking unusually well and happy. 

The day was full of pressing demands. He 
kissed his wife " Good-bye," and mounted his 
noble steed, "Black Prince;" then turning in 
his saddle and waiving his hand to his little boy, 
Alonzo, saying, " Good-bye, my boy," he rode 
rapidly from the front gate down the street. 



34 



These were the last words from his lips to the 
ear of his loving wife and children. That night 
he was hrought back to the bosom of that late 
happy household — dead. He had passed from 
earth at five o'clock October 13, 1882. 

The stricken wife and children must ever 
bear in mind this memorable day, that robbed 
them of their protector and support, leaving 
them to mourn the loss for which there is no re- 
paration. 

The mother who nurtured his early years, and 
watched with grateful pride his development into 
a grand manhood, his two brothers, Charles E. 
Slayback, of St. Louis, and Preston Trabue Slay- 
back, of Denver city, and his only sister, Min- 
nie, the wife of Dr. Y. H. Bond, of St. Louis, 
all survive him. 

He left six children; Susie, Minnette, Katie, 
Mabel, Grace and Alonzo. 

His funeral was the largest ever known in St. 
Louis. The throngs that filled the old family 
mansion and crowded its grounds, and blocked 
the street as far as the eye could reach, composed 
of all nationalities and classes — ministers of the 



35 



various denominations, judges, lawyers, artists, 
teachers, men of "business, clerks, all professions 
and ranks — attested the high esteem in which our 
noble citizen was held. And the earnest look 
and tearful eye bespoke their love in language 
far more eloquent than the wealth of floral 
tribute that literally covered the casket where 
the dead friend lay, and sent from every part of 
the spacious parlors the silent incense of their 
sweet perfume. 

For more than three hours an unbroken line 
of mourners filed past the bier, to gaze for the 
last time on the still form and pale face of him 
they had known and loved in life, and now sin- 
cerely mourned in death. 

The body was escorted to its temporary resting- 
place in Bellefontaine, and afterward removed to 
Lexington, the home of his childhood. It now 
reposes in Macpelah cemetery, beside that of his 
father. 



36 



Juvenile Poems. 



Public Speech. 

When bold young men, of talents fair, 
Their earliest public speech prepare. 
They first attempt the frightful stage. 
With " scarce expect one of my age : " 
But I'll not tire you any more 
With what you all have heard before. 
Some two or three weeks since, my teacher 
(Who surely is the queerest creature,) 
Gave me a speech, with the condition 
To learn it for the exhibition. 
In all my life I ne'er had spoken, 
And thought it really was provoking. 
To speak the first time in my life 
Before the public and his wife. 



37 



But now, as my great speech is over, 
I trust, good people, you'll discover 
That I'm a modest, youthful man. 
1854 — Masonic College, Lexington, Mo. 



The Snow Battle. 

The jeering taunts and bitter scorn 
Of fellow-soldiers sting his soul : 
Friendless, despised, disdained, forlorn. 
He had the taunt of " coward " worn, 
Till, desperate in his shame, he'd sworn 
The brand should from his brow be torn. 
Or death his daring purpose foil. 

His heaving breast and flashing eye 

In vain with firmness meet the throng ; 
In vain does he the charge deny — 
Yain by such means for him to try 
To prove the whole a slanderous lie, -^-^ 
Invented^ by some enemy, 

In mean, revengeful, causeless wrong. 

Stern prejudice and public hate 
His broken spirit beareth down : 



38 



Excited passion's raging heat, 
And all that slanders can create, 
Or falsehood's fiction falDricate — 
All, all, increase the crushing weight 
Of changing fortune's blasting frown. 

But blissful hope soon cheered his heart — 

A bloody battle draweth near : 
Valor and joy alternate start — 
He longs to act the hero's partj 
And by some act in warfare's art 
Hurl back false slander's deadening dart. 
And prove his bosom knew no fear. 

The puissant foe, in numbers great, 

O'erbalance freedom's feeble band ; 
And veterans in confused retreat. 
Wheeling, recoil at rapid rate : 
Too weak the thundering shock to meet. 
They leave behind a brave defeat — 
But lo ! where does the " coward " stand ? 

The battle's rage is blazing high, 

Death seals his victims all around ; 
The shrieking bullets shrilly fly, 
The pealing cannon rend the sky : 



39 



Hundreds he sees around him die, 
All wallowing in their Wood they lie, 
Yet palls he not, nor yields his ground. 

He stands when no one else dares stay — 
N"o friendly fellow now is nigh ; ^^ 

Their fleeting feet are far away, 

Escaping death and fire-fierce fray ; 

Contented, when they'd lost the day. 

To vow the enemy should pay 
A double price for victory. 

But he, his holy honor lost. 

Felt 'twas not life to him to live ; 
He recked not, counted not the cost, ^ 
But faithfully maintained his post : 
His single arm opposed the host. 
Made many a foe yield up the ghost — 
Should death his 'character retrieve. 

Like lightning 'long the line he flies, 

Grun after gun in arm he sets — 
To cannon's tube the match he plies ; 
The volleys, sounding through the skies, 



Are mingled with the dying cries ^ 
Of his advancing enemies, 

Charging with "bristling bayonets. 

They come in march by martial pride, 

Expecting many foes to find, 
Bat find this one alone, astride 
An empty cannon's brazen side : 
Their whole detachment he defied — 
Swore from the field he thus would ride, 

Or perish there and stay behind. 

They paused — and, trembling 'neath his frown. 
Wrapt in mute admiration stood : 

The men refuse to pull him down, 

Or stain such bright, fair-won renown. 

Although a foe, his brow they crown \ 

With laurel, and in candor own 
His was a gallant soldier's blood. 

They bore him through the martial crowd 

Upon his lofty soldier's car ; 
With heart-felt cheers, both long and loud, 
His very foes his deed applaud, 



41 



As, whirling on Ms chariot prond, 
He hastens to the free abode, 
A favored prisoner of war. 

Exchanged, he homeward turned with speed, 

And to his comrades hastening sped ; 
Long served his country at her need, 
And, from the tongue of slander freed, 
Enjoyed her freedom. All agreed 
Soldier ne'er boasted braver deed, 
None more nobly fought and bled. 

Lexington, Mo., Jan. 9, 1855. 



Impressions. 



I saw a man, and liked him well — 
His heart seemed full of generous blood. 
And honor seemed his acts to impel ; 
Thought I — " the image of his God." 

I knew him better — and the more 

I knew the more I found him vile ; 

A hypocrite, who always wore, 

O'er fiendish thoughts, an angel's smile. 



42 



(A smootli-faced hypocrite, who'wore 
A devil's heart and villain's smile.) 

I saw a sweet and gentle fair, 
At least 'twas so at first she seemed ; 
Meekness seemed traced in every air, 
And kindness from her bright eyes beamed. 

I saw her oftener, and lo ! 
The illusion left my wondering eyes ; 
Where smooth the words and sweet their flow. 
Below a Tartar's temper lies. 

I saw her more, and soon discover 
Her sweets are but the arts of guile, 
Assumed to please some brainless lover, 
Who, fool-like, trusts a woman's smile. 

'Tis thus where'er in life I go, 
I find my first impressions wrong ; 
The world is a deceitful show. 
Women and men a lying throng. 



43 



A man is seldom what he seems, 
A woman or an actress never ; 
Better acquaintance never deems 
A man the better known, less clever. 

1855. 



Valentine— To M. F. B. 

Though I may wander far from thee, 

And long may not return, 
My heart will but more faithful be, 

My love more brightly burn. 
For thee— and only thee — my soul 

Breathes forth each gentler thought ; 
My heart, hopes, prospects, you control, 

Fair Mary, in thy heart. 
But one bright image rules my heart. 

One smile alone I prize. 
That smile thou only canst impart 

From thy seraphic eyes. 
One cherished object only claims 

My homage and my love, 
And 'neath her eyes' celestial beams 

My spirit's current moves. 

Feb. 14, 1855. 



Lines Written in an Album, 

FOE LIZZIE COBB. 

I write not, Lizzie, to invoke 
On this remembering line 
Thy criticism. We o'erlook 
All faults at friendship's shrine. 

1^0 languid lover's fainting sigh 
Shall here disgust thine ear ; 
N'o words of genius meet thine eye, 
But friendship most sincere. 

" There is a friend," the wise man says, 
" That sticketh closer than a brother ; " 
'Tis such a friend at present prays 
Thou'lt be to him just such another. 

He does not ask for worldly fame, 

But begs for heart-felt friendship's blessing ; 

Not friendship that is but a name. 

But friendship worth a friend's possessing. 

'Tis such that you are fit to give, \ 

And bless some heart in that bestowing ; 
'Tis such my youth would fain receive. 
And strengthen in my older growing. 



45 



Here forced to mingle with a throng 
To every feeling incongenial, 
My life in anguish drags along, 
And is, like theirs, severely menial. 

Like every son of adverse fate, 

I'm doomed to spend my days in sadness ; 

And yet, to shun my fellows' hate, 

I'm forced to counterfeit a gladness. 

Dec. 25, 1855. 



To . 

A bird may touch the earth. 
An angel leave the sky, 
A queen forget her lofty birth, 
And love an humble eye. 

Gems oft in mine are found, 
Rare pearls hide 'neath the sea, 
Bright sunbeams kiss the ugly ground, 
Then why not you kiss me ? 
Lexington, 1855. 



46 



Forget Me Not. 

When loving friends are loth to part, 
And anguish sickens every thought, 
This modest flower from heart to heart 
Conveys a fond "Forget-me-not.*' 

In terms as eloquent as tears 
It asks vrhat men have always sought, 
In absence, distance, or long years. 
The heart's last wish — " Forget-me-not." 

And as we leave you, gentle friends, 
If we may wish so dear a lot, 
With this meek flower till memory ends, 
We humbly ask, "Forget-me-not." 

Lexington, 1855. 



To Miss Mary Walton. 

When sweet, confiding friendship shows 
A trust in one who feels forsaken, 
The grateful heart forever flows 
With gratitude time cannot weaken. 



47 



And when, fair lady, I return 
Thy generous friendship's trusted token, 
It is not strange this breast should burn 
In gratitude more felt than spoken. 

Receive again this emblem then 
Of confidence, and trust the token ; 
And take my pledge to be thy friend 
Till life's last hour, unchanged, unshaken. 

The slanderer's tongue, the whisperer's art, 
Will ne'er a moment's doubt awaken ; 
For faithful friendship from the heart. 
When once bestowed, is ne'er retaken. 

The wrongs thy sex has done this heart 
Are henceforth, for thy sake, forgiven ; 
For though some act a fiendish part. 
Some act like angels sent from heaven. 

An ardent soul forever chilled, 
A faithful heart forever broken, 
Till life's temptation's storm is stilled, 
Will not forget thy soothing token. 

Jan. 31, 1S5G. 



To Miss Bella McC — d. 

Unseen, yet loved, 
Admired, and yet unknown ; 

That love approved 
By thee, and thou alone 

Shalt be beloved 
As my unrivalled own. 

Feb. 14, 1856. 



To Fannie S. 
[a valentine.] 

May not a modest little orb 
Sometimes draw near the sun, 

And in its near approach absorb 
A splendor not its own ? 

'Tis thus thy smiles, like sunbeams bright. 
Light up my heart, when near. 

With fancied rays of happy light 
From thy more brilliant sphere. 

But now, the dear delusion past, 
I see in cold despair 



The liglit I borrowed cannot last, 
Unless thy smile is near. 

And since that smile can ne'er be mine, 

But must another bless, 
I say farewell — yet, maid divine, 

I own I love no less. 

Feb. li, 1856. 



UN Sequitur-To F. 

Then be that friend 

Till life shall end, 
And these scenes have passed. 

Whose kindness and 

Affection blend 
In union to the last. 

I cannot cast 

Thy image, fast 
Engraven, from my heart : 

Though hope be past. 

The constant breast 
Forbids love to depart. 



60 



I've said farewell, 

I've tried to " quell 
The impulse of my heart ; " 

But all too well 

I love thee still — 
Too late discerned thy art. 

Though love is vain, 

You shall remain 
Unrivalled in this breast. 

Till Death's dark reign 

Shall banish pain, 
And grant the spirit rest. 



To F . 

You would like to see me in my shroud, 
When cold death is on my brow. 

When my prostrate form in the dust is bowed, 
'Neath the conqueror's spareless blow. 

You would like to see me in my shroud, 
When by pain and death brought low 

The warm soul is chilled, the heart once proud 
Has forever ceased its flow. 



And wlien crushed 'neath the king of terrors' tread 
Is the breast that once heaved high, 

When Death has Ms icy fingers spread, 
And has dulled the flashing eye — 

You would then stand by the dismal pall, 

And among the heartless crowd, 
Who so oft the tear shed unfelt let fall. 

You would see me in my shroud. 

When the gush of j oy no longer flows 

From the fountains of the soul, 
When the heart beats not, and no longer glows. 

But submits to death's control — 

You would stand beside the unmourned bier, 

And behold its ghastly gloom ; 
And this form, bereft of its living fire, 

Wrapt in vestments of the tomb. 

You would see the cheek like moveless stone, 

And the eye as dull as lead ; 
You would see the cage whence the bird had flown, 

The cold clay whence life had fled. 

You would look upon the abandoned wreck, 
That is stripped of all its store, 



52 



When no hand, no power, its fate can check, 
Or recall it to the shore. 

You would see the remnant of what once 

A devoted friend had proved ; 
Who had listened wrapt to the tender tones 

Of a voice too dearly loved. 

Yon would see in the windings of the shroud 

A poor lifeless, rigid form. 
That once spurned false pride, and never bowed 

In submission to a worm : 

Who had loved to list in mute delight 

To the soul inspiring song ; 
Or in sought seclusion spurned the sight 

Of an incongenial throng : 

Who had loved the charm retirement lends 

To the soul that seeks repose ; 
Who was ever faithful to his friends. 

And forgiving to his foes : 

Who was crushed at times with inward woe. 

And to misery consigned ; 
Had learned to love what is most men's foe, 

A melancholy mind. 



53 



Then is tMs the wish thy heart responds 
To my soul's kiud wish for thee ? 

Has compassion then lost these soothing tones 
I had hoped encircled me ? 

Though it pains to think 'twas asked by you, 

Yet I hope 'twill be allowed ; 
And since thus you wish, I will wish it too — 

May you see me in my shroud. 

And though shocked and startled when I heard 
Such a wish, so strangely given, 

I am grateful for the unstudied word — 
And may we meet in heaven. 

Feb. 16, 1856. 



To TiLLiE Russell. 

The pleasing charm of young life's happy dream 
Sheds round thee its enchanting spell ; 

And lavished pleasures pour their golden stream. 
Each sigh, each sorrow, to dispel. 

What wealth or smiling fortune can bestow, 
To sweeten life or banish gloom ; 



"What constant love of faithful friends can do, 
All join to bless thy youthful bloom. 

Religion too, that hope which most we prize. 
With radiant beauty is combined ; 

And youth's pure incense floats up to the skies, 
An offering from a stainless mind. 

What more can dearest friendship wish for thee ? 

I'll wish your cheeks may know no tears ; 
And may your life, in future's doubtful day, 

Be always what it now appears. 

Feb. 20, 1856. 



To "Pleasant Retreat." 

Can you tell why the eaglet abandons the height. 
Where, above storms and dangers, rocks guard 

his young life. 
And with pinion impetuous hastens his flight, 
To engage in life's ceaseless and dubious strife ? 

Though his aerie is dear and its sunshine is bright, 
Yet far from its scenes is the game he must seek ; 



And though genial the day, dark and dread is the 

night 
Which englooms the ahode on his stern natal peak. 

Though it pains to depart, he cannot remain, 

For activity urging impels him to roam ; 

He must pass through the clouds as he spreads to 

the plain. 
But they hide from his back glance the sight of 

his home. 

Siren "'echoes" from "fairy" inhabited "glens" 
May allure, but they cannot induce him to stay ; 
To Necessity's mandates and N'ature's commands 
Milder pleasures must yield — and he hastens away. 

Can you tell why he wanders ? 'Twere needless 

to ask ; 
'Tis his destiny's call, and compliant he goes : 
He has wings to be strengthened, then why should 

he bask 
In the sunshine, in sluggish, inglorious repose ? 

St. Joe, May 24, 1856. 



[ Written upon Burning an Old Package of Letters.] 

From Orlie. 

Had some one said, wlien first we came, 

And were with trembling fondness pressed. 

That time so soon could cool thy flame, 

Then wildly raging in this breast — 

I had smiled with contempt at a thought of change, 

And, with vows of devotion forever, 

Would have sworn most sincerely no power could 

estrange 
My affections from Orlie — no never ! 

But brief have been the fleeting hours, 
And swiftly, sadly, have they flown ; 
And, like the charms of withered flowers, 
That youthful love is crushed and gone. 
As the flame now obliterates every line 
That was written so sweetly and fairly. 
So the flame-like and withering breath of time 
Has consumed my affection for Orlie. 

My love was like this changing fire, 
And blazed with momentary glow, 



57 



And was the soonest to expire 
When most I thought the flame would grow ; 
But instead of the paper that lights this flame, 
'Twas my heart which that fire has consumed, 
And the ashes remaining more desolate seem 
In the furnace they lighted, then gloomed. 

July 5, 1856. 



The Recollected Image. 

The smile which won my trusting heart 
Thy flowing tears may wash away ; 
Chill monster Death may mock thy art, 
And turn thy brilliant eyes to clay. 

Then think upon the mournful past, 
And ponder well the present hour ; 
Smiles will not Death postpone at last, 
Appease his wrath, oppose his power. 

Yain as the look you give your glass 
Will all your love of conquest prove, 
When Death his last decree shall pass, 
And call you from your '•' work of love." 



Ah. ! then remember in thy youth 
That beauty's brightness must decay, 
And seek those charms of sense and truth 
Earth cannot give, nor take away. 

No longer let thy pride of power 
Provoke the vfiin desire of praise ; 
Turn from the follies of an hour, 
To Heaven your aspirations raise. 

That glass will in a few short years 
Reflect back wrinkles to thy gaze, 
And show the trace of grief and tears 
Where, self admired, thy smile now plays. 

St. Joseph, Mo., 1856. 



The Nameless— Unnamed. 

I cannot breathe her buried name, 

In vain my utterance tries ; 

For hushed in self reproachful shame 

The quivering accent dies. 

And memory says "Be still!" 



59 



That name, alas ! how have I striven 
Forever to forget— forget ! 
To "bury in oblivion — 
But, ah ! it haunts me yet. 
And starts the silent tear. 

Bound to my heart as with a chain, 

It will not be forgot ; 

The fettered thought wiW fast remain. 

But still— I speak it not : 

I cannot breathe her name ! 

Oft in the silence of the night, 
When light nor sound are near. 
Her image floats before my sight. 
Her voice rings in my ear, 
And whispers " Name me not." 

That name, regretted though it be, 
Can wake no fondness now ; 
I sorrow not to think that she 
Proves traitress to each vow. 
But that she has a name. 

I breathe no curse, I raise a prayer — 
Heaven will decide her fate ; 



60 



Another now believes her fair : 
I cannot love, I cannot liate, 
Nor speak her perjured name ! 

I wish a happy life to him 

Who now expects to make his own 

That name, than which none sweeter seem ; 

And may he ne'er have cause to mourn, 

Or blush with shame, with anguish groan, 

Because of that dead name. 

St. Joseph, Mo., August, 1856. 



Hatred. 



The narrow limits of expression fail me. 

Oh ! that I had new words ! I then could tell 

All that my soul intensely feels for thee. 

Bah ! No words are wanting when sincerity 

Prompts the fond utterance of the lover's heart. 

I do not trust ; I cannot then respect you ; 

Your passion cannot move me till I do. 

If there is one whose nature I despise 

It is the maker of a reckless vow, 

Who rashly swears allegiance to-day 

And seeks a novel sovereign for to-morrow. 



61 



Of all deceits, inconstant love is worst, 
Most base, detestable, and unexcused ; 
It is the cause of more unhappiness 
Than half the vices that degrade mankind. 
The child of vice may often be reclaimed. 
But loving woman, when she once has set 
Her strong affections on a faithless man. 
Will feel the sting within her blighted heart 
Till disappointment is disarmed in death. 

1856. 



Man's Inconstancy. 

Wild as the ocean when tossed by the storm. 
And wild as the mountain crag's desolate form, 
Are the fickle and whimsical notions of man. 
Their pride and approval alike I disdain ; 
Their love and their hatred, affection and scorn. 
Are fleeting and changing as hues of the morn ; 
As the waters of ocean, run high and sink low, 
As they alter and roll, as they ebb and they flow ; 
They but mimic the acts of the popular mind, 
Undoing in rage what in prudence they bind. 

1856. 



C2 



Fate. 

Why in depths of dark despairing 
Should a soul of fire and daring 
Sink beneath the wearing, tearing, 

Torture of a slow decay ; 
And, irresolute, surrender. 
In a moment sad and tender, 
All that years of tears could render 

Dearest to a child of clay ? 

Yet I feel my life declining. 
And my chafing soul repining, 
Clouds without a silver lining 

Bringing on the night too soon ; 
While the ghosts of midnight track me, 
And malignantly attack me ; 
While my sun without, an acme, 

Sets and leaves behind no moon. 

Thus to live unknown to glory, 
And to die without a story. 
Prematurely worn and hoary. 
Old in anguish — not in years. 



63 



1856. 



Is the lot of millions, sleeping 
In the doomed, repulsive keeping 
Of oblivion, dread and sweeping. 
As an ocean formed of tears. 

Tears, vain tears ; how unavailing 
To sustain a spirit failing. 
Emblems only of the quailing 

That the proud heart loathes to feel 
Then let Fate her fierce darts shiver 
'Gainst my soul — it shall not quiver ; 
IS'ay ! the darkness of Death's river 

Cannot fix an endless seal. 



Moonlight Thoughts. 

A trembling moonlight bathes the hills, 

And tranquil is the air ; 
A calm serenity distils 

An incense sweet to prayer. 

As on the shady wings of night 
Each moment floats away, 



What heart beneath yon peaceful light 
Can bid one moment stay ? 

Or can man's power e'er check the flight 

Of moonbeams o'er the sea ? 
Or can the eye which sees yon light 

Resist its beauteous ray ? 

N'o more can heart restrain its love, 

When kindness, smooth as moonlit hills, 
And gentle as affection's glow, 
Sheds its soft radiance on our ills. 
St. Joseph, Oct., 1856. 



[Written under a Cloud.] 

Friends! Bah! 

The tear may start, the heart may ache, 
To feel that friendship is a dream ; 
But ah ! when trusted friends forsake. 
The soul deceived recoils from them. 

The earth knows not a friend sincere. 
The tool most useful is best friend ; 



65 



Of those we have the most to fear 
Who most to friendship's ties pretend. 

But still we foolishly believe, 
Trusting, though finding all untrue ; 
We curse the old friends who deceive, 
And seek the fickle smiles of new. 

The tear may start, the heart may ache, 
' Tis useless — men will still deceive ; 
Those most obliged will first forsake, 
And deepest their rank venom leave. 

St. Joseph, Oct. 15, 1856. 



To My Books. 



When blind Fortune frowned. 

And destiny bound 
My boyhood with fetters of want, 

My affections were turned 

From a world that I spurned, 
To the wisdom your pages implant. 

Sweet soothers ye are 
Of my sorrow and care, 



And relief to my aching heart bring, 

To brighten each way, 

That Hope can display. 
And soften adversity's sting. 

Ye bade me despise 

The hypocrite's guise, 
And tear off false dignity's mask. 

With treasures refined. 

To store up the mind, 
And find tru^, delight in the task. 

St. Joseph, Dec, 1856. 



Choice for Life. 



It is not Beauty, full of angel smiles, 

That e'er can tempt my steadfast heart to love ; 

Nor weak Affection, with its well meant wiles, 
Nor Love as changeless as the constant dove. 

' Tis not Devotion, breathing ceaseless prayer, 
Nor sweet Repentance, bathed in teary showers ; 

Nor Intellect, embracing, like the air, 

The mighty planet and the humblest flowers. 



67 



' Tis not a Yoice whose rich, melodious tone 
Can cause the heart to swell with joy or woe, 

Not Splendor, circled with its gem-set zone, 
Nor Hearts of Pity, melting toward each foe. 

None of these can e'er my love allure, 
I would a nobler, better object find ; 

Unbound and free, my heart must still endure, 
Until I meet with all of these combined. 

St. Joe, April 14, 1857. 



Lines : 

Written after leaving an Exliibition at Presbj-terian Church, 
Jan. 23, 1857. 

High Heaven ! is this a christian land ? 

Where men that God adore 
Who formed them with His mighty hand. 

And lent the mind its power ? 

Then why did that irreverent throng, 

When in the temple pressed, 
Their stay one moment not prolong, 

Until they could be blessed ? 



Christ's servant stood with hand upraised, 

But rude and unimpressed 
They would not hear the prayer he raised, 

Unwilling to be blessed. 

A pagan would have knelt in awe, 

His idol being addressed ; 
They scorn God's grace and slight his law, 

Despising to be blessed. 

Beware ! O slaves of gold, beware ! 

Lest you incur God's frown, 
And urge, too late, your idle prayer 

Up to his awe-wrapt throne. 

Oh ! if you can believe our world 

Unruled by God on high, 
Let not your children too be hurled 

Where torments never die. 

Then trample not religious truth 

Before their watchful eyes ; 
Such acts far more corrupt our youth 

Than those the fiends devise. 



69 



A Tress of Hair. 

[To Allie during Estrangement.] 

A tress of ring-like dark-brown hair, 
Cherished as all that's left of thee, 
I hide more fondly than Corsair 
Secretes his treasure by the sea. 
Its place is whisperless and lone, 
No eye but mine the relic sees ; 
I love it, for it is my own, 
' Twas given me ere I failed to please. 

' Twas given me by a gentle hand. 

That locked in mine was ever warm ; 

Each finger was a magic wand. 

Too well their witching touch could charm 

Still as I bend in lonely woe, 

Where none my glistering eye can see, 

A tear unmans me — be it so — 

' Tis not the first I've shed for thee : 

Communion lost and sundered far, 
The world's wild madness fills my brain ; 
I watch the twinkling of the star 
For some fond token, but in vain. 



Silent as diamond's flash, its ray 

Once seemed to dance through space, and rest 

Bright on the keepsake, then away — 

I shrieked ! it seemed to pierce my breast. 

'Twas only fancy's dark despair 
Shrouding my heart. I looked to see 
The lock again. It still was there — 
Still beautiful, serene, unchanged — 
Not unlike thee when last we met. 
I hate to think of thee estranged ; 
I, though forgotten, can't forget 
You loved me then — or said you did : 
This clustering tress is token yet 
Of how the changeable are changed. 
While constant bosoms throb and fret 
With one true thought, the rest deranged. 

St. Joseph, 1857. 



A Stormy Night in the Court House. 

Loud blows the wind, and as it fiercely shrieks 
My heart gives back its wailing ; for each sigh. 
Each sob, it utters finds an echo deep 



71 



Within my heart, which now is not less sad 
Than the wild melody of this rude storm. 
The rattling shutters but ejaculate 
Expressions of the cruel shock without. 
While the sepulchral echo from within. 
Resounding through these halls in dismal woe, 
And yet unheard by all save my lone ear, 
Are but the symbols of those frequent ills. 
Those keen distresses, whose lugubrious tale 
Is only heard within the secret soul, 
Where their sad echo left, they're hushed forever. 
Now raging wild, now melting tenderly, 
The notes of piteous woe, succeeding rapidly 
To the harsh growling of the tempest's roar. 
As if to make atonement for the ire 
Its sweeping swell displayed. ' Tis thus in life. 
The things befalling us oft seem endowed 
AYith a self-soothing power, curing themselves. 
There was a blast unsoftened, fiercely rude, 
And now there's pleasure in its following strain. 
' Tis thus in life we often find delight. 
When naught but pain and sorrow were presaged. 
Then pour, ye furious winds, with all your furious 
might, 



Your streaming strengtli against this building huge. 

And turn its empty chambers and its halls 

Into an instrument on which you play, 

Discoursing music of so rare a kind 

That it will instruct as well as please the ear. 

St. Joseph, Mo., May 13, 1857. 



To Allie During Estrangement. 

Has deepening twlight's dusky hue 
No lone retreat for thought and you ? 
Tell me, is there some quiet spot 
Where Orlie sighs that I am not ? 
Ts your heart colder when, alone, 
You think of one loved, lost, and gone ? 
When on the stars of night you gaze, 
And think of me and other days ? 
N"o star that twinkles pale at night 
But glimmers o'er my paler sight, 
And in compassion's mood serene 
I stray and stand where we have been. 
Thy voice I fancy near me still, 
But as I bend to catch its thrill 



The phantom tone eludes the reach 

Of strained attention's painful stretch, 

And chilling shudders o'er me swim, 

O'erwhelming e'en my flighty whim. 

Oh ! why will not an echo roll 

From absent lips to cheer the soul ? 

Is all forgotten and ignored, 

That love once gave, when love implored ? 

Deep night its realms of distant orbs 

Arrays in anguish, that absorbs 

The buoyant thoughts that boyhood blessed, 

And manhood's sterner soul distressed. 

St. Joseph, 1857. 



The Old Grove. 

(soxg). 

' Tis sweet to think of those we love 

When they are far away, 
But sweeter still that dear old grove 
Where we were used to play. 
The balmy breeze 
Swept through the trees. 
Lulling or soothing care ; 



And in that grove 

Were smiles of love 

We've never found elsewhere. 

The cruel axe, with savage blow, 
Has here and there destroyed 

Some lofty tops, where last the glow 
Of evening sunshine toyed. 
The balmy breeze, etc., etc. 

1857. 



The Old Oak Tree. 

To Edward T. Shields, of Jackson County, Mo. 

Where Wea's humbled, withering race 
Late kissed their conqueror's silver mace, 
And dwell to imitate the ways 

Of civilizing art, 
Within the prairie's loneliness, 
Hard by a tangled wilderness, 
A tree in native loneliness. 

There grows apart. 

IS'ot tall, but spreading far and wide. 
With branches matched on every side. 



75 



Decked like a blooming forest bride, 

With gorgeous foliage ; 
She stands in summer's sweet array, 
And tempts the coolest breeze to stay 
And kiss her ere it hastes away. 

To execute its embassage. 

Beneath that tree's benignant shade 
A band of weary travelers strayed. 
And, ceasing from their labors, made 

A long sought resting place. 
Blessed friendship sweetened their repose, 
Around them bloomed the scented rose, 
And not one thought of bitter woes 

Disturbed their quiet peace. 

Their hearts were cheerful, brave and true. 
And well meant wit responsive flew. 
Congenial souls united grew, 

Beneath that noble tree. 
Brave hearts need not the ties of blood 
To join them in fond brotherhood, 
A kindred link binds all the good 

In one great family. 



Time scatters changes all around, 
And sunders ties that love has bound ; 
Their foot-prints now are dimly found 

About that loved tree's base : 
And still its drooping branches sigh 
To every breeze that passes by, 
Because they are no longer nigh 

With words of grateful praise. 

But memory clings to that old tree, 
Connecting it with joy and thee, 
The souvenir let it ever be. 

Of friendship tried and true. 
Remote be death's detested call, 
Be time indulgent to us all. 
And gently may its changes fall 

As Wea's summer dew. 

Aug., 1857. 



To Orlie. 



I loved thee once, but now the Hame 
Has perished like a blaze ; 



77 



JSTo more can Hope arouse tlie love 

I felt in other days. 
The past seems covered with a veil, 

The future with a cloud ; 
And truth declares no heart can yield 

Devotion, and be proud. 
Oh ! love will be repressed by pride, 

And pride brooks not a frown ; 
Love floats not with so light a bark. 

But anger weights it down. 
Repentance may desire again 

What love at first enjoyed ; 
But love can never flourish more 

Where it has been destroyed. 
The heart is never offered up 

But once in sacrifice ; 
And if 'tis not accepted then, 

Its tone of fervor dies. 
But if accepted with a smile. 

And then cast idly by, 
Pride will not let the tender gift 

Slighted and bleeding lie. 
But Pride the cherished offering takes 

In stern yet kindly care; 



Pours soothing balm within each wound, 
And stays each springing tear. 

Your kindness cannot please me now, 
I heed not now your praise ; 

No more can hope revive the love 
I felt in other days. 

St. Joseph, Mo., Aug. 8, 1857. 



Who Had The Bill To Pay? 

Ah ! it was very nice indeed 

To travel through the State, 
And visit friends who love to feed 

A friendly candidate : 
How nice too did the lager beer 

Drink with them every day ; 
But tell us, gentle Bobby dear, 

Who had the bill to pay ? 

Bob thinks the railroad through our State 

Will tell of him so well, 
That 'twill his name perpetuate. 

When he beyond shall dwell : 



79 



Perhaps lie built it, but we fear 

Posterity will sav, 
" Pray tell us, gentle Bobby dear, 

Who had the bill to pay ? " 

Bob thought a seat in senate good. 

The pay was very fair ; 
But still, he thought he rather would 

Prefer the Governor's chair : 
But now, if in the doubtful race 

Sweet Bob has lost the day, 
I wonder who in such a case 

Will have the bill to pay. 

Aug. 14, 1857. 



An Old Teacher. 

Year after year, with patient care, 
My Cameron guided me to truth, 
And taught me by his precepts rare 
To curb the follies of my youth. 

Profoundly skilled in buried lore, 
And gifted with a taste refined, 
'Twas his to point, mine to explore, 
Tlie pathway to improve the mind. 



so 



And now I see Mm leave Ms Greek, 
And go to teaching whining girls 
The proper way to smile and speak, 
And show with grace their shining curls. 

Aug. 15, 1857. 



To The Preachers. 

Written in an Album. 

To the preachers and teachers your book is devoted, 
That their names may here live when their deeds 

are forgot : 
Asked, "What sort of a man by this name was 

denoted ? " 
You will say, " Ah ! he lived, taught or preached, 

and is not." 

Let the learned or the pious then write their names 

here, 
But no pedant or hypocrite sully these pages ; 
And may all most worthy your friendships appear, 
When in judgment aroused from the slumbers of 

ages. 

St. Joseph, 1857. 



Reflections. 

Written when about to leave the Court House, 

Sadly, sadly now, 
Burns the mldniglit light. 

And my aching brow 
Shudders at the sight. 

Loudly, loudly, roar 
Midnight hreezes round, 

But my soul no more 
Saddens at the sound. 

Swiftly, swiftly, life 
Rushes to the tomb, 

Through the lists of strife, 
Through the halls of gloom. 

Wildly, wildly, storms 
Beat across my path ; 

Fearful in their forms, 
Dreadful in their wrath. 

Sternly, sternly, pride 
Conquers every fear. 



82 



Fates ! ye are defied ! 
Strike ! ye Furies, here ! 

Vainly, vainly, fall 
Strokes of bitter fate ; 

Earth has lost its gall, 
Feeling left its seat. 

Hours of woe may come, 
And restore again 

To their former home 
Anguish, tears and pain. 

Gladly, gladly, soul. 
Take thy transient ease ; 

Soon the hell may toll, 
Death may hreak thy peace. 

Changes may await 
That you little reck. 

Sorrow weave a net 
Slyly round thy neck. 

But with changing life 
Stop not to deplore ; 

Arm thee for the strife, 
Sigh and pine no more. 



83 



Let each varied scene 
Thou art doomed to pass 

Make thee more serene, 
And refine thy dross. 

So thou yet may'st learn 
To smile when some would weep, 

Darts of fate to spurn, 
Peace to nurse and keep. 



St. Joseph, Mo., Oct., 1857, 



Written When A Stranger. 

Nohody cares for me, 

And I for nobody care ; 
We meet in the street. 

With a curious stare ; 
Bat no one will greet 

The stranger there ; 
Not even deceit 

Has a bow to spare ; 
Nor lowliness one conge. 



84 



Nobody smiles on me, 

And I on nobody smile ; 
Alone in a crowd 

Of both virtue and guile, 
The high and the proud. 

The low and the vile, 
Seem alike endowed 

With strangeness, while 
I know not who they may be. 

St. Joseph, 1857. 



Missouri River. 



Written while watchiing the waves from tlie stern of a 
steamboat on the Missouri Eiver. 1857. 

Foaming waters, madly leaping, 

Fling their waves upon the shore ; 
And they murmur, ever keeping 

Timely music in their roar : 
And the tireless wheel is plying, 

Like the bounding pulse of life, 
"While, in distant calmness dying. 

Waves are melting from the strife. 



85 



Ceaseless streams of panting bubbles 

Come escaping from the wheel, 
Like the constant little troubles 

Fate has destined life to feel ; 
While we watch their fretful races 

Up and down upon the waves, 
Others come to take their places, 

And they sink into their graves. 

So in life our fierce contentions 

Into tumults oft arise, 
While successive new dissensions 

Chase the former from our eyes : 
Gently smothered by the distance 

Facts will lose their great intents ; 
Memory vainly makes resistance 

To the current of events. 



Straying Thoughts. 

Oh ! my thoughts are straying, straying, 
Straying faster than the cobwebs 
That are floating on the breezes, 
Hazy breezes of the air : 



S6 



For the winter is approaching, 
And the changing hues of autumn, 
Saddened by the chilling breezes, 
Softened by the bluish hazes, 
Fill the soul with vague and dreaming 
Love for all the good and fair. 
The sun appearing drowsy, 
Shining like a sleeping beauty. 
Tinges everything with mutable 
And fleeting floods of beauty ; 
And the trees are gently sighing 
O'er the ruin of their foliage. 
Like a faded fair, lamenting 

That her tresses, once so pretty, 
So luxuriant, and so winning. 
Are becoming gray and rusty. 

St. Joseph, Nov., 1857. 



Love. 

Oh ! love is madness — blind and rash and wild 
Stubborn as age, and foolish as a child. 
It conquers sense. 
And sways the heart ; 



87 



Hates innocence, 
And studies art ; 
Destroys tlie object it at first adores — 
Enjoys, abandons, and at last deplores. 

'Tis said lie holds tlie world in abject rule : 
If so, the earth is monarched by a fool ; 
For if we trust 

What we are told, 
Love turns to lust 
As it grows old — 
Becomes as selfish as when young 'twas free : 
Is such a monster clothed with purity ? 

Anger and hatred, love and pride and fear, 
Are passions suited to the humble sphere 
Of fallen man's 

Degraded state. 
And no such plans 
To elevate 
Our notions of our poor estate and birth 
Can make a beast, born wingless, fly from earth. 

It is the destiny of birds to soar on high ; 

Of men, to eat, think, talk, drink, walk and die. 



8S 



What mockery then 

It is to say 
That mortal man 
Can passion pay, 
Of such a noble and unselfish kind 
As ne'er was known, except in God's own mind. 

St. Joseph, Dec. 1, 1857. 



Charity. 



Men love to magnify their own good deeds. 
But still they listen when self-interest pleads. 
The orphan's tear. 

The orphan's cry, 
They see and hear 
"Without a sigh, 
Unless the piteous, painful tear and tone 
Become by natural sympathy their own. 

Instruction, impulse, springs to cure the wound 
Of the poor wretch who weeds upon the ground. 
Our frantic pride, 
So stern and cold. 



Is laid aside 

When we behold 
A suflFerer unexpectedly disclose 
A tale of sorrow, shadowing forth his woes. 

But let the soul have time to think again 
Of its dear self, its pleasure and its pain ; 
And we forget 

The other's pain, 
Caress and pet 
Ourselves again. 
'Tis strange, with its great popularity, 
This Charity should be a rarity. 

A generous reputation once obtained. 
Cost what it may, must ever be maintained. 
A liberal man 

Is called to give 
The most he can 
While he may live ; 
And when he dies, the cries he has relieved 
Revive again from men sincerely grieved. 

St. JosErn, Dec. 1, 1857. 



Death of a Little Girl 
ON A Winter's Night. 

The swinging signs are squeaking 

Down the dismal street, 
And the midnight ghost is shrieking 

Through the rattling sleet ; 
Sleeping hearts are beating, 

Heeding not the storm. 
While weeping eyes are meeting 

Round, a little lifeless form. 

They watched its little heaving 

Eke the dreary night, 
Till they felt a faint misgiving, 

All might not be right. 
Gently drawing nearer, 

Silent in their fear ; 
Each moment made her dearer, 

As her end seemed drawing near. 

But dreary, dismal midnight 
Passed, and left them there, 

Watching for the daylight, 
Watching in despair. 



91 



Wlien the light returning 

Their feehle lamp was burning, 
But the fire of life was gone. 

St. Joe, Dec, 1857. 



A False One, 

False one, if I could only mourn 

For thee as for the dead, 
My tears could be the better borne 

Than those which now are shed. 

But still to know that still you live, 

And still to feel you gone, 
Is like the sleepless throbs we give 

For sleep at sleepless dawn. 

How have you sworn you would not wish 

Away from him you love 
To live one hour ; and yet — so 'tis — 

The serpent draws the dove. 

An angel could not break the spell 
That demons, gazed at, weave, 



Nor sorrows torture sonls in liell 
More fiercely than I grieve. 

Yet why lament a fallen tree, 
A blighted flower, or wall, 

Since time will bring us soon to see 
The ruin of them all. 

Thus perish joys most fairly bright. 
Thus fleet our cares away ; 

Until resigned we greet the night 
With glad farewells to day. 

1857. 



Song. 



The dreams of my boyhood are over. 

Thine image is fading away ; 
And fate has forever bereft me 

Of one who could never betray. 
The madness with which I deplore thee. 

But adds to the sorrows I bear ; 
And the sadness with, which I deplore thee, 

Only serves to embitter despair. 



93 



Oh ! say, can thy spirit draw near me, 

To receive the devotion I bring ? 
And wilt thon, invisible, hear me, 

Or breathe a response while I sing ? 
If thou wilt but whisper me softly 

Some word as a token from thee, 
I'll cherish thy memory fondly, 

Till Death shall restore me to thee. 

St. Joseph, Jan., 1858. 



To Allie. 



Tho' my fond expectations of joy I must sever, 
My visions of bliss can be never estranged. 

For beauty, alas ! is as charming as ever, 

And mad Cupid's winning temptation unchanged. 

When the red tide of life shall turn cold in my heart. 
And death on my pale dewy brow shall abide, 

Oh, say ! will a tear of regret ever start 
To thine eye, as you think of the lover that died? 

Will you think, with one sigh, of his name and his 
love, 



94 



The affection that prompted devotion to thee ? 
Or bury forever the scenes of the grove, 
"When you heard the bird music of sunset with me? 

Will you hush in the depths of the unfathomed heart 
The moonlight of love, -and the hills of our stay ? 

Or sigh that the passion of youth may depart. 
As the moonlight succeeds the strong light of the 
day? 

And oh ! will you whisper a prayer up to heaven, 
Imploring its mercy to smile on a fate 

As dark as the storm by the mountain blast driven, 
And bitter as scorn in a man that we hate ? 

St. Joseph, 1858. 



To A. W. 



There's a tear hidden deep in the eye. 
There's a sigh buried deep in the breast ; 

But in secret concealment the former must lie. 
And the other be ever suppressed. 

There's a woe we must suffer and brook, 
That is sacred to one single heart ; 



Yet the sufferer will never betray hj a look 
The distress which he scorns to impart. 

And he struggles and strives to conceal 

The destroying infection within ; 
Bitter smiles gaily cover the pain he must feel, 

But his spirit still smothers it in. 

As a flower externally sound 

Gives no sign of its inward decay, 

But still scatters its sweet-scented odor around. 
While the summer winds waft it away, 

St. Joseph, 1858. 



Memories. 



Lip answers lip in love ; 

In friendship, hand to hand : 
Affection fosters only face to face ; 

Mind answers mind, and intellects expand : 
Thought leaps to thought, as bolts electric move. 
Scorning the span of intervening space. 
Flash through dark clouds, and then unseen embrace. 



So does it seem when here, 

In darkness and alone, 
I think of one whom once I loved so well ; 

When fancy brings distinctly back the tone 
That stirred within me, all my heart held dear, 
And tilled my being with a magic spell 
Soft as the music of a silver bell ; 
Then do I think that she in some way hovers by, 

And still congenial understands my mood, 
Guesses my wish and gives back sigh for sigh. 

Joins me in sorrow, laughs with me in glee, 
Grasps at my arms, and cheers me on to good ; 
Woman in form — with angel traits imbued. 

But when the enchantment ends, 

My solitude returns — 
A solitude that in the busy crowd 

Haunts me as well as where my taper burns 
Lonely and dim ; and when my spirit bends 
A glance within I almost shriek aloud : 
Patience ! by suffering we grow strong and proud. 

April, 1858. 



Realities— Sober Realities. 

My soul is sad, for earth is Ibut a scene 

Of disappointed sorrow and chagrin: 

Each way I look for comfort I behold 

New plagues arise, and new distress unfold. 

There was a time when upward to the skies 

Ambition's fire impelled fond hope to rise. 

Inflated hope, that conquered every fear, 

Then promised fame and wealth and bright career, 

Adorned the future with each jewel bright, 

That fancy taught could give me true delight. 

But life is rushing to the horrid tomb. 

With every shadow, every dismal gloom. 

As deeply clouded, and as full of pain. 

As the dark moments that oppressed me then ; 

And all the joys and hopes, I then believed 

Ambition prompted, and my heart received, 

Have one by one forsaken my cold breast, 

And left a bosom careworn and depressed. 

Life is too real, common place, and plain, 

Too full of plans and petty aims of gain, 

Too full of tests for crumbling ropes of sand, 

Too fall of spirits, struggling to command, 



9S 



Too full of selfish ends on every side, 

To foil liigh purpose and aspiring pride, 

For every man who sighs in youth for fame, 

To leave the world the record of his name. 

Oblivion, dread oblivion, waits for all. 

Pride's hopeless prison, fate's eternal thrall. 

Yet oh ! how bitter to repress each sigh. 

That pleads for glory that never can die. 

How sad the first conviction of the heart. 

When life's experience bids young hope depart ; 

When we are taught no more to expect the joy 

That charms the soul of the aspiring boy. 

Life has no pleasure, pleasure no delight. 

That can compensate young ambition's flight. 

True, we are taught these lofty thoughts must turn. 

But 'tis a lesson we are loath to learn. 

Does nature's impulse then so vainly burn. 

As to infuse a passion we should spurn, 

Instilling lessons we would fain unlearn. 

Point to a path that none can dare to explore 

Without due sorrows and afflictions sore. 

In which each robe by Nature's children worn 

Is stained by weeds or by the bramble torn ? 



To wander gaily o'er the green Mil's side, 
Free as the wind that stirs the troubled tide, 
Is better than o'er smoothest roads to ride. 
With cruel Nature for a senseless guide, 

1858. 



To • 

The chandeliers of porcelain and gold, 
That fling their flood of purple glory down 
Upon the wondrous beauty of thy head, 
Impart no splendor not already thine ; 
And yet this magic light, that seems to close 
About thee as if conscious of embrace. 
Reveals a loveliness that dares the search. 
The marble goddess in thy gallery, 
The alabaster huntress in thy hall, 
But prove thy fairness, fairer than the best 
And purest models artists have combined ; 
And there is living beauty — theirs its type. 
Thou hast grand instruments of music too, 
That seem attuned to match thy matchless voice, 
A voice wliose simplest tone is sweeter than 
The classic harmony of master hands. 

1858. 



To I. T — . 

In reply to "Sweet Memories of Thee." 

When sad thoughts are holding 

My heart in their sway, 
And remembrance is unfolding 

Scenes of joy now passed away, 
Mid the sweetest and the fairest 

Of all that is dear, 
Thy voice is the rarest 

To soothe me and cheer. 

It enters my chamber 

When I am alone, 
Like memory's echo. 

In its soft silver tone ; 
And sweetly it thrills me. 

As it calms me to rest ; 
Ko frowning world chills me — 

Thoughts of thee make me blest. 

When my fond heart is bounding 

In devotion to thee. 
Oft light tongues are sounding 

Thy praises to me ; 



101 



But oh ! they describe thee 

Far less than thou art, 
In sweetness and beauty. 

Enshrined in my heart. 

When thy loved voice is singing 

Far away from mine ear, 
And " sweet memory " is bringing 

Fond images near, 
Then let me be near thee, 

Our souls mingling free. 
Till time shall endear me. 

My angel, to thee. 

St. Joseph, Aug. 19, 1858. 



Passion. 



O, Passion ! ere Repentance knew 
The pangs indulgence brought to view. 
My bosom throbbed in fond delight 
When Beauty's vision blessed my sight ; 
But now I've learned to look with terror, 
For fear t'will lead me into error ; 



And when a winning smil^ I see, 
I teacli my feet to turn and flee, 
Before contrition's poisoned dart 
Can fix its venom in my heart. 

St. Joseph, Aug. 24, 1858. 



To — . 

Imbued with charms by Beauty only given. 
And charms that Beauty's Queen could not decree ; 

The Power that formed thee looked around in 
Heaven — 
Beheld His favorite, and then modeled thee. 

Thy wisdom, goodness, intellectual grace. 
Thy dazzling beauty and thy form divine, 

Impart celestial splendor to thy face. 
Yet make thy face the least attraction thine. 

Imagination is the charm of song, 
And songs of thee are mere detraction vain, 

For real attributes to thee belong. 
Exceeding all in Fancy's fevered brain. 

St. Joseph, 1858. 



103 



To J — . 

Time may teacli me to forget tliee ; 

I wish it could : 
In painful pleasure I regret thee. 

Repentance should 
Ere this, in earnest, have heset thee, 

And made thee good. 



St. Joseph, Sept. 1, 1858. 



Discontent. 



Silver hinges on the doors, 
Velvet carpets on the floors, 
Gilded framing in the halls, 
And Rubens glowing on the walls ; 
Horses, carriages and wine, 
Costliest dress, and jewels fine, 
All that the world regards with awe, 
Illumed the mansion at Gildaw : 
But all the chandeliers of Rome 
Could not subdue the splendid gloom 
That Fleta felt within her heart. 
Looking at all this wealth of art, 



She paused, and shuddered at her glass 
" Mistress of all," said she. "Alas ! 
How hateful now is all this pelf ; 
I am not mistress of myself. " 
And tears both hot and bitter fell 
Upon a statue's pedestal — 
Marble statue — rare and cold, 
And worth its very weight in gold. 



1859. 



A Valentine for Alice. 

Thy heart, the home of truth and love, 

Thy bosom free from guile. 
Thy face illumed from above, 

Thy sweet angelic smile, 
Are dearer than the world to me. 

Or hope's ecstatic joys, 
And bind my heart as true to thee 

As chains that Death employs. 

St. Joseph, Mo., Feb. 14, 1859. 



105 



Your Picture. 

The faulty image of thy charms, 

Imperfect though it he, 
Could it hut give thee to my arms, 

Or change itself to thee ; 
Or could I in these colors trace 

Thy changing glance and smile, 
That glance would every care erase, 

And every w^oe beguile. 
Afar from me, beloved, caressed, 

In thy more happy lot. 
This image is a token blest 

That I am not forgot. 
And still I cling with ardent grasp 

To aught resembling thee ; 
The little left to me I clasp — 

It shall not part from me. 
And oft I think these pictured eyes 

Assume a living light ; 
Yet still the fleeting fancy dies — 

Thy absence is my night. 
These eyes could weep when I have wept, 

Could sparkle when I smiled. 



IOC 



With sweet reproving gaze have kept 
My thoughts from running wild. 

And if my conversation strayed 
Upon unpleasant ground, 

How often would a gathering shade 
My rattling tongue confound. 



But deep within my heart portrayed 

Thine image is engraved, 
In fancy's purest hues arrayed, 

In seas of beauty bathed ; 
And when temptation woos my heart 

Toward things you do not love. 
One glance at this will make me start 

To see thy frown reprove. 
And still thy gentleness and art 

My sweet reclaimers prove ; 
Ah ! should that impulse fade away, 

Life has no vision left 
That can restore the cherished rays 

Of which I'll be bereft. 

St. Joseph, Feb. 14, 1859. 



107 



Expectation. 

There is a rapture in the spirit, with an inkling of 
despair, 

When fond moments are approaching, and our 
hopes enkindle fear, 

When the heart's sweet concord waketh to soft 
music from a dream, 

And a note of harshness breaketh, like a loved one's 
painful dream. 

There are times when expectation, as it vergeth 

toward relief. 
Brings a tinge of blissful ecstasy, with vague and 

fitful grief ; 

When we know not, and can tell not, what is strug- 
gling for control. 

Yet we know a conflict rageth on the battlefield of 
soul. 

When the blessedness of hoping is embittered by 
a sigh, 

And the sickness of a hope deferred of luster robs 
the eye, 

Oh ! the waking, and the breaking, and the near- 
ness of a joy, 

Is more painful than endurance when a thousand 
ills annoy. 



To Miss Anna Stebbs. 

To cheer the sad, 
To help the weak, 

To make hearts glad. 
To soothe the sick. 
To woo the sinful from their way, 
By good example's quiet ray, 
And plant the proper impulse well 
In youthful bosom's gentle swell, 
Is doing good, far better than 
The noisy pulpit's fruitless plan. 

And oh ! how sweet 
It is to share 

Companionship 
With one so rare, 
Whose constant thought, from morn till night, 
Is giving other hearts delight ; 
While deep within the soul's hid dell 
There slumbers not a selfish spell. 
But joys resigned, and buried hopes, 
Like children's graves upon the slope. 

The grassy mead 
That greets the eye, 



May not impede 
The breeze-like sigh — 
Yet she who can relinquish self, 
And show no more than grass clad vale, 
Griefs whispered not to passing gale, 
Snch souls their Maker's work adorn, 
To nobleness and glory born. 

And nobler still, 
And dearer too. 

Who sheds good will 
Like evening dew. 
And wisely speaks a fitting word. 
When ' tis needed and best heard. 
Think not a life thus fitly spent 
E'er fails of heaven's reward when sent. 
Compensatory gifts to shed 
In blessings on Miss Anna's head. 

June, 1859. 



The Restless Foot. 

I am one of the " tribe of the restless foot," 
That ever has sighed for repose ; 



Yet clinging to hope for a promise of good, 
No actual rest mv heart ever knows. 
My head, my hands and my feet have their woes, 
Their woes of unrest, and perpetual throes 
Of action and motion without any close, 

Of turmoil and tempest and ceaseless pursuit. 

Pursuit, and of what ? Alas ! could I tell, 
Far better and happier could I abide ; 

But something is urging me on like a spell. 
And passion is goading, and so too is pride ; 
And yet when my judgment is called to decide 
What it is that impels me, or what will betide, 
Mute vacancy pauses, and nothing beside 

Grives a watchword to soothe me or quell. 

November, 1860. 



The Recording Angel. 

High o'er the golden gates of heaven 
An angel sits upon a throne of pearl, 
To whom the gift of purity and power 
Is delegated from the throne of God, 
To purge the secrets of the darkest heart 



111 



That seeks to screen its sinful tliought from sight ; 
And when from earth's dark grave-bespangled sod 
The forms that Death has clasped are yielded free, 
That angel scans the record which in life 
Each pilgrim has in deeds historic stamped: 
Each thought becomes an act ! each wish a deed ! 
As lasting as the stroke of felon famed, 
It is the heart that is dissected there — 
And, written on a magic tablet plain. 
The every thought is infinitely traced 
In characters that only can be read 
By this one Angel in all God's Domain. 
There read, and passed upon, the soul is saved 
Or hurled to Death eternal, but the germ 
Of its destruction, or its bliss, is known 
To none but God, the angel and itself ! 

Nov. 1860. 



Paying the Preacher. 

Written and enclosed with checks for §10.00 each to Rev. E. S. 
Dulin and F. G. Fackler. 

Every creed has agreed on one question at least, 

Though in forms they essentially differ ; 
Apostles and bishops, and parson and priest, 



On this point do not vary a wafer : 
From Paul to Pope Mno, from Calvin to Bates, 

In unison Spurgeon and Beecher, 
No matter how much they dispute about rates, 

Don't object to our paying the preacher. 

MR. EACKLEE'S reply TO ABOVE. 

" It may be true, as you have said, 

That parsons, priests and prelates, 
' Tho' differing greatly in their creed. 

Agree about the rates : 
Essential points they may divide, 

And hold on high dispute ; 
On minor matters they decide 

To take a common chute. 

But then do not forget, my friend, 

That they stand not alone ; 
Their principle may well defend 

More interests than one : 
There is a rule of recompense — 

When lawyers all agree, 
A client's guilt or innocence 

Depends upon the fee." 

Dec. 25th 1860. 



113 



On Hearing of Father Gary's Death. 

These Mils, where once the grass was green, 

Are bare beneath the dusty tread 
Of crowds, who now profane the scene 

Of hopes by -gone, and friendships fled. 
The sylvan bower, the peaceful shade, 

No longer smile when summer comes ; 
And where we once in quiet strayed 

The roaring wheel discordant hums. 
When sunset, in its grander whims. 

Reminds me of the wasted day ; 
The tear that in the twlight swims 

Is not for Time, but heart's decay. 
For those who once were part myself. 

United so were we in love, 
ISTo longer share with me the shelf 

'Neath trees that stood within the grove ; 
But one by one, like hopes unblest, 

Their souls' departure shocks my sense, 
Till, like the Bard, I sigh for rest, 

And pray for wings to bear me hence. 
Trees, flowers, the grass, and some who ranged 

These once fair hills with me are gone ! 



These ruined Mils ! I too am changed ; 

Their death is token of my own. 
Green velvet mantle, lost and dead, 

Destroyed by the tumultuous crowd, 
Is emblem fit of visions fled. 

And youth's grand aims, no longer proud. 

St. Joseph, March 16, 1861. 



.To Allie. 



Truly fond, and fondly true. 

We have lived and loved for years ; 
You for me, and I for you. 

Sharing smiles and sharing tears. 

Guardian angel, charm of life. 
Gem of faithfulness and truth ; 

Sole to soothe my bosom's strife. 
Sole beloved, my Bride of youth. 

Bride of youth, and bride of age, 
Mother of my winning child ; 

Blessings on thee, darling cage 
Of my fancies, dark and wild ! 



Calmed by thee, and soothed to rest, 
Bathe my temples with thy breath ; 

Press me as you always pressed, 
And forget me not in death. 

When remembered by my love, 
The' the world heed not my end, 

I will feel no envy move 
Me to sigh for fame or friend. 

St. Joe, May 19, 1861. 



Miscellaneous Poems. 



A Captive Missourian's Sigh. 

[Steamboat Augustus McDonald, Lexingtou Landing]. 

When twilight's cool shadows iDedarken the wave 
That oft in my childhood enveloped my limbs, 

They seem but the curtains of crape round the grave 
Where my hopes are all buried with memory's 
whims. 

' Twas here I once dreamed that the air was so pure. 
And the soil was so sacred, that none dare invade ; 

But alas ! on the spot where my youth was secure, 
The tools of a Tyrant their stronghold have made ! 

Alas ! for my country, my peace and my pride. 
The land of my birth is all bleeding and torn ; 

And dark o'er the waters her children are tied, 
And chafe in captivity, sad and forlorn. 

July 25, 1861. 



117 



A. Jones. 

Prisoner of War, Lexington, Mo. 

Our friend, A. Jones, well known to fame, 

Throughout the land and nation, 
As one whose fame could always claim 

His neighbors' admiration, 
Had heard it said, by some great man 

Of spotless reputation. 
That Blair and Lincoln had a plan 

Of endless subjugation. 

Supposing that a citizen 

Of his grade and pretensions 
Would be the first to suffer, when 

This scheme acquired dimensions. 
His clarion voice, throughout the land, 

Arose in thunder tones. 
To let the folks all understand 

The stand of " Alfred Jones." 

With tragic vigor he proclaimed 

His sentiments and speeches ; 
Claib. Jackson must, he thought, be blamed 

For running off " sans breeches.'''' 



Abe Lincoln did not suit Ms taste, 

Too shallow in dilution, 
Because he thought he had disgraced 

Our sacred Constitution. 

These speeches not unheeded fell 

On Alfred's auditories ; 
But many men remembered well 

His sentimental stories : 
So when the Yankees sent their troops 

To occupy Missouri, 
Full many fancies pictured loops 

For " A. Jones " in their fury. 

To end a tale, so long, so sad, 

Permit me, in conclusion. 
To say A. Jones quite shortly had 

His share of war's delusion. 
While wedging through a window, 

To make good his retreat, 
He stuck fast as a cinder 

In a Nova Scotia grate. 

So now this politician came 
To realize the fact. 



119 



That bayonets played a closer game 

Than oratory's tact : 
He sits a prisoner, in suspense, 

To know his stay's duration ; 
And ponders, while he reads events, 

On A. Jones and the nation ! 

July 28, 1861. 



Stray Thoughts. 

There's not one thought of all the train 
That, countless, courses through my brain 

But bears some trace of thee ; 
And not one star that gleams above 
That is not luminous of love 

Beyond life's billowy sea. 

There's not a shadow o'er me falls 
But Fate's dominion dark recalls, 

As clouds remind of storm ; 
And midnight gloom but tells my heart 
What life is worth with thee apart, 

Thou priceless, beauteous form ! 



Our Flag. 

Let our banner be borne on tbe breeze of tlie morn, 
' Tis as pnre as the dew-drop be-gemmingits crest ; 

The emblem of heroes — a nation just born, 
Of sons who can die, but cannot be oppressed. 

When its colors are spread to the gaze of the brave, 
They hail it with pride and devotion untold ; 

With rapture they welcome the bloodiest grave, 
Ere their birthright of freedom be bartered or sold. 

It has ne'er known dishonor, unstained by disgrace ; 

'Tis the safeguard of Beauty, 'tis chivalry's shrine. 
Encircled by soldiers, who rush to the place 

Where the chaplets of patriot laurels entwine. 

Then bear it aloft o'er the Southerners' soil — 
Defiance it hurls in the teeth of its foes ; 

And trembling before it invaders recoil, 

For freemen defend it, while tyrants oppose. 

Dec. 16, 1861. 



To ALLIE. 



In my gloom, dejected, sitting, 

War's grim phantoms hovering near ; 



Through my fancy, forms come flitting, 
Youth and hope had once held dear ; 

There they come in crowded vista — 
Vanish hideous shapes before them — 

Radiant as Apollo's sister, 

While a rainbow circles o'er them. 

Every charm and sweet perfection 

Aids the fascinating spell ; 
Memory wakes each fond reflection, 

And the bitter ones dispel. 

One there is among the throng, 
See her ! in her modest guise ; 

How I feel her thrilling song, 
And the witchery of her eyes. 

She, pre-eminent among them, 
Nearer, brighter than the rest, 

Shuts the door of memory on them — 
Now she's to my bosom pressed. 

Allie ! blessing of my life. 
Vainly are we torn asunder ; 

Pride of youth, my gentle wife, 
Guardian angel, I have found her. 



Now imagination folds her 
Fondly, trembling on my breast ; 

Present, absent, still it holds her — 
Purest, brightest, dearest, best. 

Hardships teach me but to prize her, 
Separations draw her near ; 

I shall seek to be no wiser — 
Let me know she holds me dear. 

Jan. 25, 1862. 



The Missouri Exile. 

[song.] 

Missouri ! my native land, why mock thee with song ? 
The day of thy bondage is cruel and long ; 
Thy best blood in exile, brave, manly and strong. 
Still loves thee,dies for thee, yet flies from thy throng. 

Missouri ! thy children reck not where they shed 
The blood that must free them from tyranny's tread ; 
They perish far from thee, in battle, in toil, 
But smiles close their eyelids — they die for thy soil. 

Missouri land ! we come again with banner and 
plume. 



123 



Come proudly to free thee from thraldom and gloom ; 
Our iDriglit steel shall flash forth the traitors' just 

doom, 
And tyrants and tory consign to their tomb. 

1862. 



Soldier's Lament. 



Bright eyes may shine for others, 

For me they cannot shine ; 
And parents, sisters, brothers, 

Can never more be mine : 
I only live to perish. 

In exile and in hate : 
No softer dreams I cherish, 

My heart is steeled to fate. 

And she, the idol, dearer 

Than every joy beside. 
When fortune placed me near her 

In happiness and pride — 
She too, alas ! forever 

Has faded from my sight, 
And Fate herself can never 

Undo affection's blight. 

Nov. 17, 18G2, 



Letters From home. 

They tell me she is beautiful, 

E'en more than in that hour 
When first my poor heart trembled 

As it felt that beauty's power. 
" More beautiful than ever ! " Nell ! 
'Tis strange my heart should swell 

With feelings, as I read these words^ 
That manhood cannot quell. 
Why do they write an exile thus ? 

'Tis not for him to know 
The pride and bliss of being loved 

By one in beauty's glow. 
And oh ! that fate our destiny 

Should link but to divide, 
And sunder us so cruelly 

When she was scarce a bride. 
How to my very core of hearts 

The words of cold praise fly : 
" There is more bloom upon her cheek, 

More sparkle in her eye." 
I scarcely think it possible ! 

But language has no word 



125 



To tell the tlirilling pulse these lines 

Within my bosom stirred. 
Her eyes were always bright with love, 

And lightning nestled there, 
That flashed into her lovely soul 

With wild electric glare ; 
And when the flash was over, 

The darkness came again, 
More desolate and dreary 

Than I e'er had known till then. 
Life seemed a curse without her. 

And she at last was mine ; 
My wretchedness was changed to bliss, 

Ecstatic and divine. 
The rapture of our mutual love, 

The smiling fates adorn ; 
Aff'ection's pledge from heaven was sent- 

Our little girl was born. 
I saw her eye, exulting, on 

The cherub creature bend ; 
Her glance on me with dearest thought 

I have ever seemed to blend. 
The mystic spell is broken — 

I am banished from her side ; 



While waves and Mils and dreary wilds 

Our aching hearts divide : 
And cruel war, and battle fierce, 

And cannon's swelling roar. 
Leave me to only dream and die 

For the woman I adore. 

Batesville, Ark., Nov. 17, 1862. 



The Past. 



There are faces we never forget, 

There are shadows that never can fade. 

There are visions that last when realities set 
In the gloom of oblivion's shade. 

Time's splendor is fleeting at best, 

Its colors and baubles decay ; 
But the heart and its treasures are blest. 

And repose only brightens their ray. 

Then why should we sigh for the light 
That lingers round greatness and pride ? 

Let us cherish the feelings that yield us delight, 
And spurn every yearning aside. 



127 



There is nothing we mortals can own 
But fades when no longer we live ; 

Fate sits on a tottering throne, 

And Death will claim all she can give : 

But blessings there are that survive 
Every dart that Destiny can cast ; 

Let Ambition and Avarice strive — 
While they vanish, Affection will last. 

Dec. 21, 1862. 



To Allie. 



On the verge of mighty ocean, I have gazed upon 

the deep, 
I have watched the magic motion of the waves that 

never sleep ; 
And while sacred eve descended, o'er the earth and 

o'er the sea. 
As the day and darkness blended, I was thinking, 

love, of thee. 

Crested billows, soft and changing, chased each 
other from the shore. 



And thus I felt my thoughts were ranging to the 
heart that I adore : 

As soft words of love unspoken gently break upon 
thy ear, 

These waves no murmuring betoken, till their rest- 
ing place is near. 

On the mountain top reposing, in the night wind 
cool and chill, 

Radiant stars, their light disclosing, hover o'er an 
exile still : 

There is something in their beaming that now whis- 
pers "All is well," 

And, in spite of darker seeming, Love still weaves 
its magic spell. 

Wandering thus, dejected, lonely, far away my foot- 
prints rest ; 

Hope still looks to thee, thee only, when my bosom 
is depressed : 

Whether hill or vale I'm tracing, mountain top, or 
shelly shore. 

Patiently my ills embracing, for the woman I adore. 

Dec. 21, 1861. 



129 



The Soldier's Dying Whisper. 

Near where the battle raged fiercely and wild. 
Wounded and dying, how calmly he smiled ! 
Smoke of artillery tainted the gale, 
Wreathing each feature that grows marble pale ; 
Clasping her miniature close to his breast — 
Death fastens rigid the fingers he pressed. 
Hush ! Is it conscience he struggles to hide ? 
Where were his thoughts drifting last when he died? 

Lift away the curtains that darken my soul ; 

One dying moment let Beauty control ! 

Send me back the light that fiashed from her eyes ; 

Let it illumine my heart while it dies : 

Softly, still softlier, fall on my ear 

Strains of word music, that once were so dear. 

Vain is thy mockery now, Earth and Pride ! 

Tell her I heard her voice last when I died. 

Clinging to memory comes back the hour 
"WTien, in the moonlight, we stood in the bower, 
Stood there to pledge, by the calm stars above. 
That " time and change should not alter our love." 



Well hatli this vow been kept faithful and true, 
" Never another love, not loving you ; " 
Should that voice o'er my grave linger to chide, 
Tell her I thought of her last when I died ! 

Tho' long a wanderer, sundered afar, 
Far from my native land, off in the war, 
'Twas for her child and her honor I fought, 
Not fame or glory, so oft falsely bought ; 
Wishes by millions my aching heart sends : 
Is it a phantom that over me bends ? 
Phantom or real, ah ! let it abide ! 
Tell her I prayed for her last when I died, 

July 21, 18G3. 



Song for the " Missouri." 

The Yankee lads and iron clads 

Are welcome now to try us ; 
With shot and shell we'll greet them well, 

Before they shall go by us. 
With our banner floating o'er us. 
Let the foe but come before us ; 
Every gun will swell the chorus — 

Bomb, bomb, bomb, bomb. 



131 



We all were tars before ttie war, 

And know a thing or two ; 
Our leader is our sort of man, 

And we're a jolly crew. 
While a man lives to defend her, 
The " Missouri " still will send her 
Answer to the word " surrender : " 

Bomb, bomb, bomb, bomb. 

For Southern girls and Southern rights 

" Missouri " breasts the wave ; 
Her noble name will yet give fame 

To Carter and Musgrave. 
Always ready for the trial — 

When the Yankee pirates come. 
They will soon find out the style 

Of our bomb, bomb, bomb, bomb. 

Shreveport, Marcli 29, 1864. 



Rosy Wine. 



To sit with one — and one alone — 

And talk and read and onward speed, 

While far from crowds, through broken clouds 



The moonbeams fringe the mountain's brink, 
Is wine, I think, for gods to drink. 

Under this rosy, sparkling wine, 

My soul and thine 

Would feign entwine. 

Till two are one and both divine. 

Between us two the waters blue 

Assume the hues of azure true, 

And Heaven is vividly in view ; 
And, entre nous, your wondrous eyes, 
To my surprise, awake my sighs, 
And trembling I'm in Paradise ; 

Yet, entre nous, it will not do, 

My dear, for you to say " adieu," 

And tell me this is nothing new. 

1864. 



Farewell. 

[Respectfully inscribed to my Cousin Lou M. McDowell, Ala.] 

Farewell ! to the pleasing sensations 
That pelting and praising invoke ; 

Farewell ! to the partial relations, 
"Whom not even my follies provoke ; 



133 



Farewell ! to the gems I discover, 
Long Md in an unexplored mine ; 

Farewell ! when the mid-day is over, 

To the sweet-scented breeze from the vine. 

Farewell ! to the halls of my kindred ; 

Farewell ! to the scenes of repose ; 
Farewell ! to the shadowy clusters 

Of jasmine, verbena and rose ; 
And when far from the spirits that love me 

I meet with the callous and strange, 
At midnight, in secret, t'will move me 

To think that your love will not change. 

Farewell ! and if farewell forever, 

'Tis no vacant, unmeaning refrain ; 
But it wings from the heart as we sever 

Mute wishes of meeting again. 
Tho' the blood which our veins both inherit 

Be as noble as any on earth, 
Let us claim to be kindred in spirit, 

And not merely kindred by birth. 

May 31, 1864. 



The News from Home. 

A man or two murdered, a name or two stained — 

A mill struck by lightning, a roustabout brained- 

A consolidation of corporate powers — 

A party that lasted until the small hours — 

A runaway team, a theatrical row — 

A lot of low gossip too vile for a sow — 

A list of the wicked condemned in the courts — 

A tame summing up of the out-of-door sports — 

A few of the loiterers loafing at springs — 

And this is the news that the newspaper brings. 

1864. 



Purification. 



'Tis said that the Goddess of Beauty arose 
From the foam of the boisterous sea ; 

And the muse of the South will rise from her woes, 
And grow beautiful when she is free. 

'Tis the fierce heat of fire gives refinement of gold. 
And its dross is but parted, it is not destroyed ; 

And fate will our future good Genius unfold. 
Untrammelled, unsullied, uncloyed. 



135 



Those only can speak to a suffering world 
Who have suffered themselves — then they speak 
to the heart : 

We ask for no solace when joy is unfurled, 
We remember no lesson that pleasures impart. 

Then blest Revolution ! affliction of Grod ! 

While thy cries brood desolate over the land, 
Souls ne'er to be conquered kneel kissing the rod 

That is held by an Ever-wise Hand. 

1864. 



I Sigh for Thee. 

[song] . 

With restless foot, I've wandered far, 
And trod the weary paths of war ; 
I've tempted death for native shore. 
And mingled in the battle's roar ; 
In danger struggled to appease 
A restless heart averse to ease ; 
Yet danger's charm is lost to me, 
And still I sigh — and sigh for thee. 



136 



'Mid lofty balls, at lowly door, 
I've sliared the fare of ricli and poor; 
Strange faces now look strange no more, 
They look like those I've met before. 
I've sought exciting scenes in vain, 
And changing -brings no change of pain ; 
My chafing heart roams yet unfree — 
A prisoner still — it sighs for thee. 

The sleep that once brought rest at night 
No longer soothes with soft delight ; 
No calm repose for me by day 
Can freshen now my life's decay ; 
But doomed to be unsatisfied. 
Appeals are vain to Hope or Pride ; 
In Honor's wreath I only see 
Fresh cause to sigh — and sigh for thee. 

The loss of rapture in thine arms 
Is brought to mind by beauty's charms ; 
But still no smile awakes a thought 
So deep, so dear, as you have taught : 



137 



The crowd's gay mirtli brings no delight, 
And eyes look dim that once looked bright ; 
My spirit sickens at their glee, 
And still I sigh — and sigh for thee. 

March 30, 1864. 



To Allie. 



The shutters rattle in the blast. 
And clouds ob)scure the moon ; 

The midnight is already past, 
And day will dawn too soon. 

And we must part ! how sad the thought. 
That hearts like ours must sever, 

And lose the joy our meeting brought, 
In tears or parting ever. 

So rare are hearts that truly love 

Permitted to unite ; 
Apollo should be bid by Jove 

Prolong their parting night. 

But duty calls : I haste away, 

At dawn I lead my men ; 
But, dearest, think of me, and pray 

To meet me soon again, 

Texas, March 8, 1SG5. 



The Burial of Shelby's Flag. 

A July sun, in torrid clime, gleamed on an exile band, 

Who in suits of gray 

Stood in mute array 
On tlie banks of the Eio Grande. 
They were dusty and faint with their long, drear ride, 
And they paused when they came to the river side ; 

For its wavelets divide, 

With their glowing tide, 
Their own dear land of youth, hope, pride. 
And comrades' graves, who in vain had died. 
From the stranger's home, in a land untried. 

Above them waved the Confederate flag, with its 
fatal cross of stars. 

That had always been 
In the battle's din 
Like a pennon of potent Mars. 
And there curved from the crest of their leader a 

plume 
That the brave had followed in joy and gloom, 
That was ever in sight 
In the hottest fight — 



139 



A flaunting dare for a soldier's tomb, 

For the marksman's aim and tlie cannon's boom, 

But it bore a charm from the hand of doom. 

Forth stepped that leader then and said, to the 
faithful few around : 

" This tattered rag 

Is the only flag 
That floats on Dixie ground ; 
And this plume that I tear from the hat I wear 
Of all my spoils is my only share ; 

And, brave men ! I swear 

That no foe shall dare 
To lay his hand on our standard there. 
Its folds were braided by Angers fair , 
'Tis the emblem now of their deep despair. 

Its cause is lost. And the men it led on many a 
glorious field, 

In disputing the tread 

Of invaders dread, 
Have been forced at last to jdeld. 
But this banner and plume have not been to blame ; 
No exulting eye shall behold their shame ; 



no 



And these relics so dear, 

In the waters here, 
Before we cross, shall burial claim : 
And while yon mountains may bear name 
They shall stand as monuments of our fame. 

Tears stood in eyes that looked on death in every 
awful form 

Without dismay ; 

But the scene that day 
Was sublimer than mountain storm ! 
'Tis easy to touch the veteran's heart 
With the finger of nature, but not of art, 

While the noble of soul 

Lose self control, 
When called on with flag, home and country to part, 
Base bosoms are ever too callous to start 
With feelings that generous natures can smart. 

They buried then that flag and plume in the river's 
rushing tide, 

Ere that gallant few 
Of the tried and true 
Had been scattered far and wide. 



And that group of Missouri's valiant tlirong, 
Wlio had fought for the weak against the strong- 

Who had charged and bled 

Where Shelby led— 
Were the last who held above the wave 
The glorious flag of the vanquished brave, 
No more to rise from its watery grave ! 

PiEDRAS Negras, Oil the Kio Grande, July 4th, 1865. 



Our Invaders. 



We have fought you all unfriended, 

For the world sustained your crime ; 
And the rights which we defended 

Met the scorn of every clime : 
Still they're no less dear and holy, 

In the dungeon wearing chains, 
Than they were when Southrons boldly 

Chased you from Manassa's plains. 

Lips once proud bend meek and lowly, 
Kiss the hands that struck the blow, 

And submit to terms unholy 
From the gloating, beastly foe ; 



142 



But think not in exultation 
All are stricken with dismay — 

Some still cherish indignation 
For a fiercer, bloodier fray. 

When the many knelt, faint hearted, 

To receive the cell and chain. 
Some with vows renewed departed 

From the accursed foe's domain ; 
And in patience we are waiting 

For the wrath of God on high, 
'Gainst our stricken land abating. 

To avenge the outraged cry. 

We are not the first example 

Of a nation crushed, oppressed ; 
Every race has records ample. 

Freedom's struggles to attest. 
Oftentimes the blood and treason 

Seem expended all in vain ; 
But the avenger Time will measure 

All their outlay back again. 

August 11, 1865. 



143 



To Allie. 

I have no heart for study, 

And I have no heart for song ; 
The days seem everlasting, 

And the nights are just as long : 
I have pondered over pages, 

'Till their faces are alike ; 
And I count the listless pulses 

Of the town clocks as they strike. 
Now the watchman's lonely signal 

Shocks the stillness of the night. 
And anon the stars I gaze on 

Pale before the coming light. 
" All's well ! " the town is sleeping, 

But there is no rest for me ; 
My soul is filled with weeping — 

In vain I seek repose on earth. 
When absent, love, from thee. 

August 13, 1865. 



"Not for Me." 

The stars are flaming out to-night, 
But not for me — but not for me ; 



Their sparkling beams are fraught with light, 

But not for me — but not for me ; 
Their radiance mocks the dismal gloom 

Within my heart — within my heart ; 
For every ho]3e hath found a tomb 

Within my heart — within my heart. 

Beyond yon mountain's towering crest 

I scan the sky — I scan the sky ; 
Each night renews my fruitless quest — 

I scan the sky — I scan the sky : 
No ray among the millions there 

Will leave the rest — will leave the rest — 
To soothe the darkness of despair 

That fills my breast — that fills my breast. 

My eyes have seen earth's beauties shine 

In dazzling glee — in dazzling glee ; 
But of them all not one is mine, 

IN'ot one for me — not one for me : 
In exile, solitude and care, 

Before my prime — before my prime — 
I've watched the wreck of every prayer, 

And bide my time — and bide my time. 

Monterey, Mexico, August 21, 1865. 



Home and Loved Ones. 

I live but in the dreams of those 

Who once my pathway cheered, 
Remembered joys, forgotten woes, 

And loves by grief endeared ; 
Youth's ecstasy and hope have fled, 

Its fresh and sparkling dew ; 
Its buds of promise, scorched and dead, 

Are lost forever too. 

No longer throbs the bounding pulse 

Of boyhood's hallowed prime ; 
'Tis chilled beneath the world's repulse, 

By sorrow, not by time : 
Misfortune and the frown of Fate, 

Like lightning's shivering spears, 
Leaped startling through the storm of State, 

And buried all in tears. 

Monterey, Mexico, September 10, 1865. 



To THE Belle of Missourl 

While forbidden to dwell 'neath the light of thine 
eyes. 
Or to breathe the sweet nectar thy presence dis- 
tils. 



My absence and exile but teacli me to prize 

The beauty that blooms on my own native hills. 

Ah ! sad were the moments when bidding adieu 
To a country oppressed by its bitterest foe ; 

With a tear o'er the graves of the faithful and true, 
And a curse on the dastard who shrank from the 
blow, 

I have roamed into regions more genial and mild, 

And climates that glow with Italia's own blue ; 
But no beauty like thine on my vision has smiled. 

And no land has a daughter to rival with you : 
In the blaze of their splendor, the wealthy and proud 

Have diamonds that flash with a ray from the 
skies ; 
But the jewels are vain as the forms they enshroud 

To out-dazzle the true sparkling light of thine eyes. 

Sept. 26, 1865. — San Luis Potosi, Mexico. 



To — 



From yonder antique dome the midnight bell 
Signals the watchman down the distant street ; 

Silence and vigil shed their mystic spell, 
Unbroken by the sound of passing feet. 



147 



Above Ayusco faintly beams tlie moon, 
The stars in all their glory mount the sky ; 

Aronnd the eaves the gentle breezes moan 
With saddened sounds, that in the distance die. 

At such an hour, the soul is all of fire, 
It seems absolved from contact with its claj^, 

And, like the light that glimmers from a pyre, 
Flies from its source, and wanders far away. 

Ah ! there are feelings that the pen can paint, 
And others it cannot : the struggling heart 

Breaks 'neath its burden, and all words seem faint 
To tell that story which none can impart. 

What is the story ? 'Tis the secret tale 

That each life bears, with human shape endowed ; 

The tale that makes the gambler's wife grow pale. 
Without a murmur — penitent, and yet proud. 

It is the mother's anxious, smothered sigh, 

Over the errors of a sinful child ; 
It is the calm of christians when they die, 

Or fierce remorse that groans in accents wild. 

It is the patient absence of long years 
Between two hearts that mutually adore ; 



The exile's prayer — the agony and tears 
For one whose fate is hid 'neath ocean's roar, 
•i^ * it 4t « 

And here I pause — for I cannot express 

That which I wish to tell — to one ? ay, two ! 

Wife of my youth, child of our tenderness, 
I have no world but you I Adieu, Adieu I 

City of Mexico, December 30, 1865. 



To My Daughter Susie. 

[Written ia Mexico.] 

To-day thy chronicle of life counts five ! 
And he who should be near thee is away ; 

Thoughts leave my heart, as bees fly from a hive. 
To seek their favorite flower, its charms survey, 
And burdened with its sweets retrace their way. 

Alas ! poor child ! Grod grant you ne'er may know 
The kindling fierceness of your father's heart, 

Which makes him scorn to fear or brook a foe, 
Yet weep in secret from his child to part. 
And die of torture, ere confess its smart. 



149 



Thou dost not know me, pretty little one ; 
You'd pass me by unknown upon the street : 

Thy father's features, form, appearance, tone. 
Thy fancy doubtless paints, thy friends repeat — 
Yet ah ! how sad the thought, we ne'er may meet ! 

Unknown to thee my yearning for thy weal, 
Unknown to thee my sorrow for thy woe ; 

Unknown to thee what pangs intense I feel. 
To think my only child — a girl — should go 
Upon life's path exposed to every blow. 

Cruel the fate that severs me from thee, 
Susie, my darling ; and more cruel still 

That vain were my aims to make thee free 
From the despotic sway, and unjust will. 
Of foeman pledged to do thee everj^ ill. 

T fought to save thee ! think of that, when blame 
Is muttered in thy presence 'gainst thy Sire ! 

Perhaps thy proud heart chafes in childish shame 
To hear the invader curse my vengeance dire ; 
I hope again to make them feel my ire. 

But all such thoughts are foreign to my theme. 

For every pulse beats gently at thy name ; 
I see thee nightly in my brightest dream. 



150 



And wonder if thy nature will be tame, 

Or, like thy father's, glow with ardor's flame. 

Ah! the rebuffs thy soul must meet on earth, 
If y ou inherit but one-tenth my fire ; 

Perhaps you'll curse the hour that gave you birth. 
And long for that which bids thy life expire ; 
I have oft done so in myphrensied ire. 



Decking Southern Soldiers' Graves. 

'■\Pulveris tria maniplia ad manes Spargera.^'' 

Beautiful feet! with maidenly tread. 
Offerings bring to the gallant dead ; 
Footsteps light press the sacred sod 
Of souls untimely ascended to God : 
Bring spring flowers ! in fragrant perfume, 
And offer sweet prayers for a merciful doom. 

Beautiful hands ! ye deck the graves 
Above the dust of the Southern braves ; 
Here was extinguished their manly flre. 
Rather than flinch from the Northman's ire : 
Bring spring flowers ! the laurel and rose, 
And deck your defenders' place of repose. 



151 



Beautiful eyes ! tlie tears ye slied 

Are brighter than diamonds to tliose wlio bled ; 

Scorned is the cause they fell to save, 

But " little they'll reck " if ye love their graves : 

Bring spring flowers ! with tears and praise, 

And chant o'er their tombs your grafcefal lays. 

Beautiful lips ! ye tremble now — 

Memory wakens the sleeping ones' vow ; 

Mute are the lips, and faded the forms, 

That never knelt down save to God and your charms : 

Bring spring flowers ! all dewy with morn, 

And think how they loved ye, whose graves ye adorn. 

Beautiful hearts ! of matron and maid, 
Faithful were ye when Apostles betrayed ; 
Here are your loved and cherished ones laid. 
Peace to their ashes ! The flowers ye strew 
Are monuments worthy the faithful and tune : 
Bring spring flowers ! perfume the sod 
With annual incense to Glory and God. 

Beautiful tribute at valor's shrine, 

The wreaths that fond ones lovingly twine ; 

Let the whole world their ashes despise — 



15-2 



Those wliom they cherished with heart, hand and 

eyes, 
Will bring spring flowers ! and bow the head, 
And pray for the noble Confederate dead ! 

May 9th, 1SG6 — On Steamer Stonewall, Mississippi River. 



To Jefferson Davis in Prison. 

Dark, dark is the cell where thy foemen entomb thee. 
But, like the great pictures that mellow by time. 

The anger vindictive which seeks to consume thee 
Will brighten thy virtues, but darken their crime ! 

Then prostrate defender of all that was holy. 
And sacred, and dear to the hearts that were thine. 

By cruelty greatness was never made lowly. 
But grandeur in fetters is ever sublime! 

Could hearts linked in liberty's hopeless endeavor 
Thine agony, pale and emaciate, atone, 

They'd share it — and never forget it — ah ! never ! 
Thy fault was thy people's ; thy greatness, thine 
own ! 



153 



Then while Garibaldi and Kossuth are dining, 
No longer called foes when they once are o'er- 
thrown, 

The American champion of freedom is pining. 
In a dungeon to suffer and perish alone. 

Aye ! suffer and perish, for daily and nightly 
No moment of rest his torments allow ; 

The sentinels' tramp, and they do not tramp lightly, 
Is waking, remorselessly waking, him now. 

The wife who so nobly has guarded his honor 
Is suffered at last to behold that dear face ; 

But the eye of a base menial slave is upon her. 
To chill back her tears by his impudent gaze. 

Ah ! tell me of barbarous nations no longer. 
When torture exquisite as this is devised, 

To wreak the unsparing revenge of the stronger, 
On one who though captive cannot be despised. 

Then shackle with chains the wrecked form of the 
leader. 

Who marshalled his cohorts and fronted your line ; 
The chivalrous, lofty and daring " seceder " 

Will soon be a martyr, heroic, divine. 



154 



Then murder by inches the soldier who fought you, 
Transmit to your children the damnable stain ; 

And centuries hence, when the world has forgot you, 
'Twill honor the hero who now wears the chain. 

June, 1866 — Written on Steamer Kate Krnney, Missouri River. 



Contrasts in City Life. 

Out of the sound of the voices, 

Away from the noisy street, 
Where the reveller drinks and rejoices, 

And the sidewalks bruise my feet, 
I am waiting the car to bear me 

To the city's outskirts grey, 
Where my wife is waiting to hear me 

Recount the toilsome day. 

I left her soon this morning, 

And little Susie asleep ; 
All night we had watched the darling, 

Such watch as parents keep. 
O'er her feverish, childish prattle, 

Our weary eyelids bent, 
Till the fever ceased its battle. 

As the dawn with darkness blent. 



155 



Then with heavy heart I started 

To earn their daily bread ; 
And I've toiled all day sore-hearted 

With the fear our child is dead : 
Though none in the shop were braver 

To do the tiresome task — 
The hour ! ah, for the favor ! 

But 'twould cost my place to ask. 

Now the car is moving slowly, 

Filled with hearts that do not think 
Of the trials of the lowly, 

Who from their glances shrink : 
I'll take my seat by a banker, 

Who has gained enough to-day 
To"store it away to canker — 

What ! could she ? and I away ? 

The street cars thunder and rattle, 

The lamp jets fleck the street. 
But silent now is the prattle 

That the father longs to greet : 
He finds them alone in the cottage, 

The mother and pale dead child, 
With]no one to heed her sorrow, 

Or to hear her sobbings wild. 



They both then bend their gazing 

On the smile-set marble face, 
Till the taper ceases its blazing, 

And darkness drapes the place ; 
But while their hearts are bleeding. 

In squalor, dark and drear. 
The banker's guests are leading 

The dance in his mansion near. 

October 7th, 1866, 



Our Dead. 



Wake not the slumbers of the brave, 

"Who for their honor fell ; 
But let each everlasting grave 

Its mute suffo'estion tell. 



•■so' 



They passed away in brighter days, 

In glory and in fight ; 
Ere valiant deeds had lost their praise. 

Or wrong subdued the right. 

The hearts once lit with freedom's flame, 
That in the valley lie, 



157 



ISTow sleep beyond the reach of shame — 
We for the living sigh. 

Hearts that indignant scorned to live 

Submissive to a wrong, 
Had prized no boon that life could give, 

Or had not prized it long. 

1866. 



Sterling Price. 
A MissouEi Poem by a Native Missoueian. 

Written in 1866. 

Dedicated to those whose generosity to tlie people of the South 

would relieve the distress occasioned by war. 

There was a time when anxious quest arose, 

To find a leader for a nobler band 
Than Sparta's bravest. Fierce dissension grows 

From trifling matters o'er a stricken land. 
When words political result in blows, 

And light dispute to deadliest hate is fanned ; 
But Envy shudders when the times demand 
A chief resolved against all odds to stand. 



158 



Men stood appalled ! They liad but heard of war, 
When brutal Hessians shot some hapless girls 

And harmless men. Camp Jackson's lightning jar 
Down Walnut Street its bolt magnetic hurls. 

St. Louis trembles ! Passion, near and far. 
Contagion spreads. Civil commotion whirls 

All systems into chaos. German churls 

With Yankee fiends unite. The tragic curtain furls. 

And what a scene ! Arrayed on Freedom's side, 
Ready to strike for God and native shore, 

After the boasting ranters all subside, 

There are some thousands who resolve to pour 

Their last heart-drops of blood into the tide. 
Or win redress for wrong in battle's roar: 

Patrician ofi'spring offer there their gore, 

If need be, to sustain the South's devour. 

And yet Missouri did not seek their fight, 
In all the tumult she had plead for peace : 

Doomed to be robbed, no matter who was right. 
The meek lamb's innocence saves not its fleece. 

Both parties covet, and they both invite ; 

We shun them both, and each cries "treason this ! " 

We lacked the sterner manhood of old Greece, 

Or we had armed, and bid the quarrel cease. 

159 



We could have said, " We'll not invade the South," 
Oar property, like theirs, is menaced too ; 

Nor will we rush into the cannon's mouth. 

Because John Brown was hung, as was his due." 

Bad farmers cut their crop up in a drouth, 
JSTeglecting thus the little they might do ; 

And so when faction rules, it will subdue 

The little sense that might have struggled through. 

No choice was left except to choose our side — 

Missouri argued for the Union still ; 
A call for troops aroused her latent pride — 

For troops to carry out a despot's will — 
For troops to scatter vengeance far and wide — 

For troops 'neath flags of "union" and "good- will ;" 
To crush our brother, and his blood to spill, 
That abolition rage might drink its fill. 

This " call " was scorned by other States than ours. 
But " loyalty " was never questioned there ; 

In vain Democracj^ opposed the powers 

The " Free States President " assumed to bear. 

Old sailors wait not till the storm cloud lowers 
To trim their sails. States of the Northwest swear 

" 'Tis wrong," "they won't," and, like a yielding fair, 

They curse New England, yet her lewdness share. 



The time for calm discussion is not yet, 
But men will wonder in the time to come 

How strife could fling its drapery of jet 
O'er every door where Courage has a home, 

By such transcendant bosh as Seward set 

To woo his trudging minions from their loam, 

And place them following the fife and drum, 

With deeds of brutal wrong that struck men dumb. 

For twenty years the North had nursed its rage, 
For thirty years had threatened to divide ; 

" Part slave, part free," it was their motto sage, 
" This country cannot be : " so they decide 

To blot their own slaves from historic page. 
By selling those they had, before they tried 

Emancipation. Then, 'tis not denied, 

'Twas Northern men said, "Let the Union slide." 

They took good care to sell their negroes first. 
Before they found out slavery was a sin ; 

Tliey pocketed the cash with pious thirst — 
To soothe their consciences they squeezed the tin. 

I never heard of Yankee yet who durst 
Not keep the price the Southerners paid in 

For these same woolly-heads, who've been 

The real cause of all this war-like din. 



161 



The sale completed, why should they ask more ? 

They had the money, and we kept the slaves ; 
Our land and cotton added to their store, 

But Beecher, Greeley, Helper, Lincoln, Grraves, 
And many others of their kith and yore, 

Preached madness, till the truth itself depraves 
The public heart, and red-tongued ruin raves 
Over the wilderness of white men's graves. 

Such was the national disease when we 
First realized the awful cry of blood ; 

And as each branch pines with its parent tree, 
Missouri's hopes are blighted in the bud. 

The only question with us now must be, 
Where shall we find a man to stem this flood. 

Who loves the Union, yet who has withstood 

The meanness of this Abolition blood ? 

There were but two whose names both friend and foe 
Acknowledged overbalanced all compeers ; 

Both gained renown in wars with Mexico, 
xVnd had worn civic wreaths in later years. 

Poor John T. Hughes made graphic pages glow 
With tributes to the one, until he heard 

His name a household word. He now appears 

Unworthy mention in heroic verse. 



162 



The other was preferred, tho' many thought 
He was too calm amidst the storm of State ; 

A few malignants whispered, " he was bought," 
Others asserted " he came out too late ; " 

But faction, at his name, no longer sought 
To offer opposite a chief so great 

Any less noted man as candidate — 

All murmuring approbation left, the rest to Fate. 

And soon — too soon ! their choice was put to test 
Upon the hard-won ridge called Bloody Hill ; 

Seven desperate charges for its gory crest 
Stained every inch of soil : the conflict still 

Unchecked in fury, when that leader pressed 
On in the front rank — on, and on — until 

A shout burst forth, so wild and deep and shrill — 

The foe fled from him when they failed to kill. 

No triumph ancient Rome allowed to those 

Who conquered Romans, for they could discern 

No ground for glory in their country's woes ; 
But when their land by civil strife was torn. 

The victor and the vanquished at its close 
Mingled their ashes in one common urn ; 

And shall our dear Missouri then be shorn 

Of those illustrious wreaths her Price has worn ? 



163 



Oak-Mil and Dry-wood, Lexington, Elkhorn, 

Beheld Ms valor, strategy and zeal ; 
His counsels sage, unheeded Iby Yan Dorn, 

Of fatal sequence to Missouri's weal. 
With fresher bays than all his brow adorn ; 

Though wounded, he made no complaint, appeal, 
Or criticism. He appeared to feel 
All of his people's wrongs, yet he was mute as steel. 

When he did speak, 'twas always of good cheer, 
To rouse some faint one, or the strong to nerve ; 

His lips ne'er uttered where a man could hear 
One word desponding, or whose tone might swerve 

The wavering from their duty. Rumors drear 
He treated with contempt, as they deserve ; 

But when good news came, he would make it serve 

To arouse the soldiers, and his hopes preserve. 

From Boston Mountains, through the Cypress slough, 
His troops through storm, thirst, heat and cold he 

Defied the climate, and abandoned too [led ; 

The land to ravishment for which they bled. 

Ah ! cruel trial of the soldier true. 

To hear his wife and children cry for bread, 

And yet his march resume with sickening dread, 

For brutal Curtis stays to burn their shed. 



161 



What influence was it of tlie loftier kind 
Induced the brave, thus wronged, to be controlled ? 

Was it alone the mastery of mind. 

Or genius dominant o'er common mould ? 

No ! 'twas their leader's excellence, combined 
With " Amor patrice^^^ pure, unbought, unsold : 

For Freedom's sake, thus freeman dare to hold 

Their scorn for tyrants — their contempt for gold. 

With these, obedient to his country's call. 
Our gallant chief for other scenes prepares ; 

In vain the brave in hosts at Shiloh fall, 
New hosts supply the force their death imj)airs. 

Missouri bleeds — forsaken, left by all — 
Her sons go freely where the bravest dares ; 

And Farmington, luka, Corinth — bears 

The world's stern history a tale like theirs ? 

'Tis no part of my purpose to detail 
The varied exploits of our chief's career. 

They were so numerous that prose would fail, 
And verse much more inadequate appear. 

Missourians death-dealing forts assail, 

Missourians when Tie led them knew no fear ; 

By foeman dreaded and by friends held dear, 

His name was ever welcomed with a cheer. 



165 



Who led the van ? Who held the slow retreat, 
With stubborn rage, disputing for the ground ? 

Who killed the picket — marched the midnight beat, 
When lonely vigil starts at every sound ? 

'Twas those who followed him with sorrowing feet 
From far Missouri — land of home, and bound 

By ties more dear than Tennessean mound, 

Where many a green grave has since then been found. 

N'ext followed scenes of warfare's grandest scale, 
Gigantic armies under leaders grand — 

Names at whose mention myriad foes turned pale, 
Names that gave dignity to Freedom's band. 

Could Beauregard, Bragg, Hardee, Yan Dorn fail 
To win their knightly laurels in command ? 

Or Bowen, Marmaduke, Polk, Forrest, and 

The other champions of the Southern land ? 

Armstrong and Chalmers, Breckenridge and Green, 
Cheyburn and Maury, Villipigue and Scott, 

Shelby and Morgan, Parsons, Little, Stein ? 
And thousands destined to obscurer lot 

By war's stern fortune, yet who might have been 
Fame's chosen few — born ne'er to be forgot : 

Emmet McDonald was, for instance, not 

Less glorious that he fell in youth without a blot. 



166 



Corinth and Tupelo ! trivial places once, 
Till rendered classic by war's tragic strife, 

With clanging sabre, and deep booming guns' 
Re-echo daily. While the drum and hfe. 

Drill and instruction, change the rustic dunce 
From citizen to soldier, till his life. 

Devoted once to farm, home, babes and wife. 

Was thus prepared for scenes of conflict rife. 

'Twas there in muster, skirmish and retreat. 
The camp's routine soon practical became ; 

The midnight vigil and the sentry's beat 
Seem more endurable, and far less tame 

When lurking rifles watch the slightest cheat ; 
As hunters, when they seek for dangerous game, 

Are cautious, yet alert. Besides, there came 

Immense reviews to fan the martial flame. 

I saw a man among the titled great. 

With something more than mortal on his brow ; 
Grandeur was stamped there by the hand of Fate, 

With modest dignity that could not bow. 
Nor amidst adversity grow elate. [endow 

When Fortune smiled! Does gracious Heaven 
Man with His image ? Then behold it now ; 
That face blends all that gods to men allow. 



All eyes turned on liim. Men of higher rank, 
Yet less renown, appear to court his eye ; 

Their courtesy recognized, he seems to thank 
His soldiers for that homage chieftains vie 

One with the other to extend. He drank 
No praises for himself. Though proud and high. 

Among the great he made no soldier shy 

To approach the man whose word could bid them die. 

Courtly of presence, yet the private's friend, 
He signed no warrant for a culprit's hlood. 

Anxious the line that loved him to defend. 
Reckless of danger to himself he rode ; 

And never was his tall form seen to bend 

When smoky battle bathed him with its blood ; 

But merging from its sulphurous clouds, he stood 

Sublimely calm, defiant, unsubdued. 

No act of cruel bloodshed stains his life, 
Pardon and pity fill his manly breast ; 

A hero in the battle-field's red strife. 
His captured foe became at once his guest ; 

And he would bare his bosom to the knife 
Before the weak, by stronger, be oppressed ; 

Friend to the sick, the wounded, the distressed, 

To woman courteous, and by women blessed. 



168 



Magnanimous lie ever was to foes — 

He gave back gallant Mulligan his sword ; 

And when the latter, like a soldier, chose 
Captivity, in place of honor blurred 

(Refusing a parole), the wife arose, 
And asked to share the destiny of her lord ; 

Tho' troublesome the wish which she implored, 

'Twas granted instantly — the only guard, their word. 

The soldiers' idol, and the people's friend, 
Office-fed factionists detest his name ; 

No place so high, applause will not offend, 
When it gives promise of a lasting flame. 

The great Epaminondas was condemned 
By envious rivals to disgrace and shame ; 

The names have perished that procured him blame. 

His shines unscorchedby Time's all- withering flame. 

The less have ruled the greater many a time. 
As history of politics and wars both show ; 

Places are purchased ; "luck" and sometimes crime 
Win high success, Macbeth-like, by a blow. 

The first men of an empire seldom climb 
Into the ruler's ofiice. They forego 

Ambition that must rule or ruin — so 

If self be uppermost, they care not who's below. 



Vox populi, some ancient wise men thouglit, 
Should be.consulted by shrewd "powers that be ; " 

Perhaps if this old rule had been well taught, 
The British Tories would have saved their tea. 

But sound experience always must be bought, 
And roundly paid for, or we should not see 

The very blunders of last century 

Repeated, to our cost, in '63. 

Men often seek for places, but sometimes 
The place calls loudly for some fitting man ; 

And this vox popuU absurdly chimes 
Clamorous approval of the latter plan. 

Wood, Lovell, Pemberton and Father Grrimes ; 
No ! Mother Holmes I mean, and others can 

(I beg old Grimes' pardon) prove the ban 

Of putting pigmies out beyond their span. 

Leaders are oftener wrong than those they lead ; 

Their followers see when they have missed the way, 
Avoid the sloughs and quicksands that impede, 

And pass the paths that led the first astray. 
Nations are happy when their rulers heed 

The ruder wisdom of the race they sway ; 
Vox popuU and common sense dismaj' 
The pets, who spoil — and traitors who betray. 



The times are passed that drew these comments forth, 
Great men for errors great atonement pay ; 

The crushing columns of the mighty North 
Have swept the rulers and the ruled away. 

For their success, perhaps their navy's worth 

Did more than fault of him who, doomed to pay. 

The scapegoat of our failure, claims to-day 

Our tears, to illumine his prison's gloomy ray. 

The West, neglected, called its hero home, 
And he was sent as grudging gifts are cast ; 

Jealous instructions, such as ruined Rome, 
Fettered his genius and his plans harassed ; 

Yet he was welcomed as the ocean foam 
Thunders its greeting to Borean blast : 

The golden time for his return had passed, 

But patriots joyed to see his face at last. 

The army rallied round their favorite chief, 
Discouraged skulkers sought the ranks again ; 

A force was gathered in a period brief. 
By far too large for Holmes' contracted brain. 

'Tis said a lady added to his grief — 
Her hand, with Helena, he might attain. 

For thy sake, cruel Love, were never slain 

Victims more noble than bedecked that plain. 



Remonstrance was fruitless. It was urged 
That such a force as ours could now invade 

The unwalled towns and fields loy foemen scourged, 
Redeem our State, and gladden every maid 

Whose absent lover had thus far emerged 
Unscathed from danger. But who can persuade 

Against the homage to fair woman paid. 

Whose bright eyes madden most just as they fade ? 

We plead in vain, And added to the shock 
Of our defeat and Vicksburg's stubborn fall. 

We lost the valley — gave up Little Rock — 
Desertion hovered o'er us as a pall. 

Like men condemned to die upon the block 
Our troops retired, deep gloom pervading all ; 

Nor did they rouse till Shelby's bugle call, 

At Arkadelphia, rang through camp and hall. 

Still clogged by weakness in superior rank, 
Of many a fault our hero stood the excuse ; 

Some pious people wondered if he drank, 

Some called his discipline severe — some loose ; 

Some criticised the front and some the flank, 
But were apologetic in abuse ; 

At last they cursed Head- Quarters like the deuce, 

And wished " Old Pap " would carry out his views. 



The struggle for Red River next began, 
With Commissary Banks and Steel combined ; 

One in the North, a formidable man — 
A formidable boast, the other signed. 

But Richard Taylor rather spoiled the plan, 
On all sides, for before K. Smith could find 

An equilibrium suited to his mind. 

He had Banks whipped and scattered to the wind. 

I envy not the laurels any wear, 

All that I merit are already mine ; 
But I despise a military air, 

And certain "stuck-up" ways hard to define. 
Yet easy to be felt — and hard to bear. 

Lieutenants and drum majors of the line 
Assume becomingly this sort of shine, 
But generals — when plainest are most fine. 

Hence, West Point etiquette, West Point red tape. 
And all that sort, are well enough in place, 

But cannot make a soldier of an ape — 

The best trained mule makes but a shabby race. 

Not all are mourners who display their crape; 
Church members are not always sure of grace ; 

A dwarf can never wield a giant's mace ; 

Cadet to general, is not mere gilt lace. 



173 



Price laid the plan to capture Steel complete, 
And had not interference balked his aim 

Ko Jenkins Ferry had contrived to cheat 
The victor of his spoils. But it did seem 

A little too provoking that a fleet 

Should vanish slowly, like dissolving steam, 

While the same meddling that broke Taylor's dream 

Should shelter hopeless Steel from Price's scheme. 

But, like a gamester who has saved a part 
Out of the fortune that he might have won, 

A victory of deliverance soothes the heart, 

Tho' Shreveport wept for many a dear pale son. 

From robbed plantations, homes and cities start 
The baffled foe's red flames, and columns dun 

Shed conflagration's ruin o'er helpless one, 

While Yankee ravage puts to blush the Hun. 

Heroic Allen ! Governor indeed ! 

Louisiana claims thy exiled bones ! 
Forever foremost at the time of need. 

Thy stirring voice was heard in thrilling tones. 
No knight more courtly ever mounted steed, 

No chevalier a purer record owns ; 
Thy gen'rous hand sooth'd orphans'sighs and groans, 
Now e'en the stranger thy hard fate bemoans. 



But why enumerate tlie fatal list, 

That soon or late fell at our hero's side ? 

To many a veteran eye 'twould bring the mist 
To tell howWeightman, Rives, Greene, Erwin died ; 

Or Churchill, Clarke (the boy artillerist), 
Slack, Porter, Kirtley, Farrington, McBride, 

And many a mother's darling, father's pride. 

That charged where Gates or Cockrell desperate ride. 

My lay would have no end, if I should pause 
To name them all, for naming would be naught 

Unless I gave my reasons for applause. 

They followed Price, and if that name is fraught 

With fame, their merit was in part the cause. 
"With them he counselled — under him they fought. 

If pupils of his camp were not well taught, 

Why was that madcap Shelby never caught ? 

Shelby ! ideal of the modern knight. 

Who took a gun boat with his " horse marines ! " 
Most daring of the brave in stubborn fight. 

Who traversed mountains,valleys,swamp, ravines. 
King of two rivers — Arkansas and White — 

His name revives the Revolution's scenes : 
If means were wanting, he invented means, 
Capturing his outfits — even to canteens. 



The Southwest quiet, we again aspired 
To wrest Missouri from the Eagle's beak : 

This dream Missourians' heart forever fired ; 
No soldier was too sick — no horse too weak 

For marching when this darling hope inspired. 
It made a paradise of mountain bleak, 

Made very heroes of the mild and meek, 

And brought a livelier flush to every cheek. 

Advance guard of the moment, thus designed. 
The restless Shelby seeks his old domain ; 

Leaving the crushed and pent-up foe behind, 

On Croly's Ridge, he checked his war steed's rein — 

Captured some forts, as if to employ his mind. 
While Price was coming with a heavier train ; 

And proved in deeds, as few will prove again, 

The vast resources of his fertile brain. 

His bread on boards, his meat on sticks, was cooked. 
No tent or baggage his light troops impede ; 

He struck the unwary foe when least they looked, 
AVith few encountered many by his speed ; 

No long delay his iiery nature brooked, 
No fare effeminate his followers need ; 

Their jest was danger, and their pride the steed, 

" Old Joe " their idol — his commands their creed. 



The devious windings of this long, last march, 
'Twould take some ingenuity to trace ; 

The storm clouds chill us, and the sunbeams parch. 
Nights of unrest to dangerous days give place : 

The attack, the pursuit, the capture and the search — 
The scout, the headlong charge, the picket chase — 

The quick surprise, the old familiar face — 

Sometimes a battle — and sometimes a race. 

And there were scenes affecting in their way — 
Our people's joy was every where intense ; 

Some long had waited to behold that day. 
Who hailed our flag as their deliverance. 

Wives greeted husbands who could only stay 
To kiss their darlings lingering at the fence ; 

And dashing off a tear, as they rode thence, 

Invoked God's guardian hand in their defence. 

Sometimes, alas ! what anguish greets the brave ! 

Zealous to realize long-hoped delight, 
And clasp the loved ones he had fought to save. 

As he drew near his homestead's cherished site, 
Finds ashes, chimneys — and perhaps a grave. 

Revenge is wrong ; but so it is to fight. 
The law of human nature makes it right — 
Sweet to the smiter is the chance to smite. 



177 



If some took desperate reckoning for such acts, 
It was tlieir only pathway to redress : 

To those who knew the aggravating facts, 
Always concealed by mercenary press, 

It was no wonder that the Federals' track 
Miss Anderson's avenger should harass : 

Quantrell and Todd could scarcely have done less — 

The very tiger heeds its cubs' distress. 

[spared. 

Sometimes they struck when soldiers would have 
But they no soldiers' quarter were allowed ; 

No Mameluke or Tartar would have dared 
Their Ishmaelite defiance, fierce and proud : 

Their lives were those of men who had despaired. 
Stung mad their breasts with morbid passions 

Each belt v/ith eight revolvers was prepared- [crowd, 

Alike the informer, spy and red-leg fared. 

I do not justify their lawless course — 
They sought no sympathy, and little felt ; 

Their citadel, the brush ; their steed, their force ; 
Keen eye, their guard ; their arsenal, their belt ; 

But still their deeds atrocious had tlieir source 
In wrongs more savage than of Dane or Celt ; 

Before Nemesis in their vows they knelt, 

And outraged woman urged the blows they dealt. 



Such outlaws Righteous Judgment ever sends, 
As Heaven's peculiar curse on civil war. 

Let condemnation rest on who offends, 
Not one of these had followed Price afar : 

If by his presence they conserved their ends, 
'Twas not his fault, and should not dim his star. 

Their violence no rule but one could bar — 

Each band's own chief was sovereign as a Czar. 

We give back those who love us not their hate. 
The veriest cur is fierce when turned at bay ; 

The power to conquer does not indicate 
The right to trample, or the right to slay. 

Despairing cowards will assassinate ; 

But things of courage, hopeless of fair play, 

Will turn like Sampson driven to dismay. 

And perish frenzied — flinging life away. 

Once more we left Missouri to her fate — 
Baffled by numbers, all our toil was vain ; 

Once more our weakness drove us from the State, 
Too long resigned to hostile bayonets' reign. 

There was no record of our triumphs great, 
A servile press insulted e'en the slain ; 

But deeds of gallantry on many a plain 

Atoned our sole defeat and soothed onr pain. 

179 



Hail, Kansas ! State of congregated thieves ! 

We took one blow at thee in passing by ; 
Thy " loyalty " for " martyred " murderers grieves, 

And John Brown's ghost is worshiped with a sigh. 
Jayhawking robbers of Missouri beeves, 

Thy Senatorial honors bear on high ; 
" Treason " in cloth of widow's loom ye spy ; 
In aught worth carrying off, " conspiracy ! " 

Our march was called a failure and a " raid," 
Head-quarters met our hero with a frown — 

Ignored the unselfish greatness he displayed, 
And sought to pluck the chaplets from his crown. 

In vain attempts to censure him were made 
With footmen faint, who rode his chestnut brown. 

When he to rest them on their way got down, 

And walked to make the soldier's fare his own. 

Deep indignation sided with our chief. 

He asked investigation. But why trace 
The sickening sequel ? 'Twould renew our grief ; 

To Lee's surrender lesser woes gave place. 
The struggle had been long — the close was brief ; 

He sought, first, clemency for his lost race, 
And then toward foreign land he sets his face, 
And chooses exile rather than dis^rrace. 



isu 



Thou who could'st bid thy marksmen spare a foe, 
Because he rode out boldly and alone ! 

Thou who a captured million didst bestow 
Back to its vault, the Bank of Lexington ! 

It wrings our hearts to think of thee in woe. 
Old, and impoverished, 'neath a foreign sun. 

The brave forgive the brave. What thou hast done 

America will claim. Then claim thine own ! 

Come back ! to those who yearn to take thy hand, 
Let our entreaties thy resolves entice ; 

Come to thy cherished friends, and native land — 
A good example is the best advice. 

A born commander can obey commands ; 

Opposing chiefs have urged thy pardon twice ; 

Thy very foes have termed thee " free from vice " — 

" Pure but mistaken patriot " — Sterling Price ! 

I write for Southern people. But, perhaps. 
Some one with candor left to hear both sides. 

Who did not sympathize with our collapse. 
And feels no pity now, what ill betides. 

Will read this story of disjointed scraps. 
And think its measures mere poetic strides. 

The author to the future faith confides ; 

The truth of all things time at last decides. 



181 



The great will live, no matter who defames, 
As mighty structures rise above earth's slime ; 

And when the day comes to recount proud names, 
Renowned for virtue in an age of crime, 

And free from passion men discuss the claims 
That made " almost a nation " sound sublime, 

Then those who love Missouri, in that time 

Will see preserved true memories in their rhyme. 

My strong hand trembles as I seize the pen, 

And feel it all inadequate to show 
The glories of those great and gifted men, 

Whose names so feebly in these measures glow. 
Let each who knew them pay his tribute then, 

And genius will in proper time bestow 
Some writer, like the bards of long ago. 
With power to tell well for us what we know. 

Ah ! how I covet this condensive power, 
This gift conferred by Nature on so few ! 

That I might rescue from oblivion's tower, 
And hold the virtues forth in living hue. 

Of those we loved, but lost in luckless hour ! 
Names of illustrious dead, whose names imbue 

Their age with chivalry — imparting too 

Renown to those who such a race subdue. 



Fond memory lingers, wisliing all undone 
That gives our country glory at sucli cost — 

Gives back tlie vsreeping mother her dear son, 
And mourning maid the lover she has lost. 

But God, who orders all things from his throne, 
Gives us the harvest — but he sends the frost ; 

Even His chosen, for wise ends He crossed, 

And He chastises where He loves the most. 

No triumph ancient Rome allowed to those 

Who conquered Romans, for they could discern 

No ground for glory in their country's woes ; 
But when their land by civil strife was torn. 

The victor and the vanquished at its close 
Mingled their ashes in one common urn ; 

And shall our dear Missouri then be shorn 

Of those illustrious wreaths her Price has worn ? 

Those times are past. But ere I close this page. 
One word to those who have this story read : 

I write not in resentment, but to assuage 
Our captive grief for joys forever fled. 

This sacred privilege should not enrage 

Our recent foemen. They but mourn their dead. 

Much more we suffer ; but when both have bled, 

Mutual forgiveness mutual peace must shed. 



183 



Then let Americans implore Higli Heaven 
To look in mercy on our stricken land ; 

Let good men bind where wicked men have riven, 
And learn a lesson from affliction's hand. 

Forgiving, as they wish to be forgiven, 

May party spirit flee from Freedom's band. 

And yielding homage unto Grod's command, 

United millions round one altar stand. 



The Union Soldier. 

[Respectfully dedicated to Gen. F. P. Blair.] 

He fought, as he supposed, to save 

The Union and its cause, 
And struck to liberate the slave 

Against oppressive laws ; 
But when he saw the slave he freed 

Turn on his prostrate owner — 
A pinioned captive — 'twas a deed 

That shocked a soldier's honor. 

The breast he bared to battle's frown 
Sought none but standing foes ; 



184 



And when his enemy was down, 
His strife was at its close. 

Oppression's foe is always brave, 
In triumph or disaster ; 

His mission is to free the slave, 
Not crush the prostrate master. 

1867. 



"Umbr^ Noctis.*' 

Night was not meant alone for those 

Who, lulled in sleep, forget their woes ; 

But hearts that glow with hidden fire, 

To solitude and shade retire, 

To mock repose with smothered sighs. 

While slumber waits on drowsy eyes. 

Where hopeless shrines in secret rise, 

To expiate unuttered cries, 

That, checked through all the crowded day. 

At last to agony give way. 

Blest night ! when hid from curious gaze. 
Love's fervid flame may leap and blaze ; 
And flowers that far away have bloomed 
Still soothe the soul to torture doomed. 



185 



When reckless of perdition's brink, 
Within themselves the feelings sink — 
When every sense grows faint and dim, 
And sorrow's cup o'erflows its brim, 
Till lost to all, but those bright eyes 
That peer like stars 'twixt clouded skies, 
One blissful phantom fills the sight. 
That smiles — then flies — and all is night. 

Ah ! woman ! woman ! false or true. 
The manliest brain thou dost subdue ; 
And quiet vengeance clothes thy form 
With deeper dread than battle's storm. 
The man who injures thy repose, 
In vain would laugh away his woes ; 
In vain, midst gay companions, tries 
To drown remorse with revelries. 
Fly to distraction as he will, 
Thy pallid face pursues him still ; 
And every pang he caused thy breast 
Will rob his bosom of its rest — 
Till joyless, phrensied and undone, 
Nemesis haunts him when alone ; 
And when with others he is gay, 
His callous air will still betray 



Some lingering torture of regret, 
He never — never — can forget. 

The recreant v^dfe, or truant maid, 
That he has sought for and betrayed, 
May think that she alone endures 
Grief that repentance never cures ; 
But ah ! the V7retch who wrought the crime, 
And scorned compunction for a time, 
Will some day die — for die he must — 
And then, for every forfeit trust. 
Around his dying couch will stand, 
With pointing finger, icy hand, 
Each form whose innocence he wronged ; 
And Retribution, though prolonged, 
Will visit round his sabled hearse, 
The echo of their ghostly curse ! 

St. Louis, Feb. 13, 1867. 



Good in Seeming Evil. 

Troy fell, and her fugitives fled from her flames. 
And founded an empire that conquered the world 

And vanquished Jerusalem homage still claims. 
Wherever a civilized flag is unfurled. 



187 



Leonidas died with Ms brave Spartan band, 
But Freedom survived her best children's defeat ; 

And he who at Waterloo lost his command, 
Through exile and death made his triumph com- 
plete. 

Then weep not for those who for Liberty fell, 
Resisting oppression too cruel to name ; 

They share not a bondage too loathsome too tell — 
The glory is theirs — they know not our shame. 



To Our Southern Belles. 

Though the gems from your caskets, so ruthlessly 

torn 
By the belles of the North, may be trophied and 

worn; 
Yet the jewels they took were not jewels we prize, 
For their splendor remains in the flash of your eyes. 

Though your fathers' plantations lie barren and 

black. 
Yet your riches remain — all the riches we seek ; 
For your smiles of appoval a dowry impart, 
In the far vaster wealth of a welcoming heart. 



133 



Tho' insults and wrong plunged your households in 

gloom — 
Past the blows that we strnck to avert such a doom- 
Yet we read a reproof for dejection and sighs 
In the trust in to-morrow that leaps from your eyes. 

Tho' the cause that we pledged in our vows to defend, 
And the banners we bore, in submission must bend ; 
Yet forgive us our sin, if our woe we forget 
In your smiles of " well-done " and " there's hope 
even yet." 

Tho' now we've no coachman to send with our note 
(For the North has found need for his wisdom and 

vote), 
Yet the fellow who bears it I reckon will do, 
As he serves me quite well since he left off the blue. 

Brave girls of the South — brightest gems of the 

earth — 
To a cowardly race you can never give birth ; 
And 'tis you that as Liberty's altar expires. 
Like the vestals of old, will rekindle its fires. 



189 



Since we fouglit for our honor, and not for applause, 
Tho' vanquished, we cling to the wreck of our laws ; 
And like Spartans will utter no cry of distress, 
ISTor a word of contrition our sealed lips express. 

St. Louis, 1867. 



Consolation. 



No flower to dewy morn awakes 

But some rude hand will pluck the gem. 

Regardless of the wreck it makes 
Around the ruined stem. 

So beauty, love, and all we prize, 
Some tempter hastens to destroy ; 

So Satan entered Paradise, 
When all seemed peace and joy. 

So eyes that win, and lips that smile, 
Are those that soonest will hetray ; 

Like serpent glances, that beguile. 
Then seize upon their prey. 



When thus from earth's attractions driven, 
The soul is taught deception's smart, 

Faith whispers " there's a love in Heaven 
That satisfies the heart." 

St, Louis, May 15, 1867. 



Epitaph to be Placed on My Tomb. 

Let him who looks upon this spot 
Remember soon 'twill be his lot, 
And judge with gentleness, if he 
Would ask his Maker's lenity. 

July 14, 1867. 



Thoughts of Heaven. 

At times the soul elastic springs 
From contact with its parent sod. 

And borne upon devotion's wings 
Soars upward toward its God ! 

Forgotten then the cares of life. 

With nobler thoughts our bosoms swell, 

Which raise us far above earth's strife, 
That drags us down to hell. 



191 



Would that this elevated mood 
Could oftener visit my poor heart, 

And bid in holy solitude 
All grosser thoughts depart. 

Then would I realize the dream 
That makes eternity appear 

More blest than all that mortals deem 
Of earthly bliss most dear. 

Sunday Night— Aug. 25, 1867. 



Sad Story in Verse of " The Dog and the 

Rake." 



A wild rake flew from Washington, 
And brought his dog to Jefferson ; 
And when they reached the latter town 
They called for chairs — and rake sat down. 

And strange indeed it was to see 
The dog, with collar marked " C. D.," 
Lay at the rake's feet his every bone, 
Although the rake was not alone. 



192 



And then this dog got in a. fight, 
And rake rushed in with all his might ; 
And dealing blows both fair and foul, 
He even made his own dog howl. 

But soon the tide began to turn. 
And rake, forlorn, began to yearn, 
For lone he found himself — bereft, 
But many a howler still was left. 

That he might then the row appease, 
He called aloud "Let us have peace ! " 
Alas ! too late : the die was cast — 
That rake's poor dog must breathe his last. 

This made them only laugh right well, 
A laugh that rake declared a yell ; 
But when his temper was restored, 
It was his dog the cheers had bored. 

This seedy rake, now left alone — 
Because his dog was dead and gone — 
He'd jumped to tire from frying-pan, 
A sadder, if not wiser man ! 



193 



MOEAL. 

When any boy has cake enough, 
For that one boy to eat, he errs 
If he behaves himself too rough. 
And takes from other boys their Schurz. 



Decoration Day at Arlington. 

Let Arlington have peace, 

With flowers each tomb begem : 
What scattering graves are these? 

Who is it weeps o'er them ? 
A few lie buried here 

For whom pure tears are shed. 
By mourners all sincere 

In grieving for their dead. 

The lambs who went astray. 

Too near the butcher's shed, 
A few who wore the grey 

Eest here close where they bled. 
They perished near this spot, 

Brave martyrs to their cause ; 
They fought for nothing not 

Vouchsafed them by the laws. 



What ! rebel-grief be shown 

So near the Royal Court ? 
Offensive to the throne, 

These vile ill-mannered sort ! 
Dare they come here with flowers ? 

" Be soft, dear sir, we pray ; 
This custom, sir, is ours ; 

You stole it from the grey." 

God bids the flowers to blow, 

The dew and rain to fall. 
The sun to shine, brooks flow, 

Alike for -one and all. 
But grief belongs alone 

To favored ones at Court : 
" Brave soldiers — bayonets down 

That rebel mourner's throat ! " 

Strew salt upon the sod. 

Imperial, marine, 
That even nature's God 

Deck no wrong grave with green. 
Do robbers dread their slain, 

Lay bare their tombs to hate ? 
These forms may rise again. 

Retributive as fate. 



195 



Post guards at every grave, 

Despoil each garnished mound ; 
Proud sentinel, armed slave. 

Guard well the stolen ground. 
Suppress the&e rebels' grief, 

Let Arlington be glad ; 
How dare their plundered chief 

O'er kindred bones be sad ? 

Why should not rebels' grief 

On Arlington be shown ? 
For who but Lee, their chief, 

These goodly acres own ? 
Ancestral rebel sires 

Once wrested this same land 
From royal occupiers. 

Imperial guardsman stand. 

Through treason to the crown, 

To rightful flag and king, 
Tradition has brought down 

The rights to which we cling. 
The loyal were despised 

Two generations past ; 
And rebels then comprized 

Nobility's true caste. 



1% 



The lessons of to-day 

To future times belong ; 
See how the robbers pay 

For their successful wrong. 
Rest, noble friends of Lee, 

Eternally repose ; 
Sleep where your ghosts can see 

Whole hecatombs of foes. 

May, 1869. 



Yearnings. 

Earth and fame are a troubled dream ; 

Tell me for what is the heart still yearning : 
Wealth and renown are not what they seem 

To the soul that in vain is for them burning. 
All that the world can do is done, 

All it can give is mine ; 
But the eyes look up to the moon, and sun. 

And the stars that above us shine ; 
And a thrill and a pang possess the heart, 
And despair comes back with a iiash-like start. 
To teach how small a thing is life. 
If this is the end and aim of strife — 



197 



This worthless, vain, vexatious storv, 

In a world so tame, so drear — 

So brambled o'er with fear, 
With naught secure, but that all must end — 
Before we begin to comprehend 

The simplest end of being, 
With every thing so flushed with doubt, 
That sight itself is deceived about 

The thing it believes 'tis seeing. 

June 29, 1869. 



Strivings. 



Striving for something that cannot be, 

Longing for what can ne'er be won ; 

Trying to sound some fathomless sea, 

Climb to the moon, or soar to the sun ; 
Struggling to lift some moveless weight, 
Battling against the laws of Fate ; 
Searching to find what none can show, 
Seeking to know what none can know ; 
Tasking the brain, the hand, the heart, 
Bej^ond all nature, beyond all art : 
Such are the things that shorten the breath 
Of fretful man, on his march to death. 



lOS 



And yet there are many things under the sun, 

That men, who fail, might do right well ; 
Things that would pay if right well done, 

And worthy of those who failed and fell. 
Working away with patient toil, 
To wrest new fruits from the virgin soil ; 
Plodding along with quiet zeal, 
To make some sad heart lighter feel ; 
Planning home comforts for those we love. 
Searching and working and looking above : 
Such are the things that man can do. 
To sweeten the lives of many and few. 



In an Album. 



One word Pll leave before we part. 

Upon this spotless page ; 
One word that may thy faithful heart. 

When absent, love, engage : 
A word whose music, like a spell. 

Shall rival every sense. 
And, near or far, shall ever tell 

Of love's sweet recompense. 



199 



What sliall that word so potent be, 


To thus all things combine, 


Save this, that near or far from thee. 


Still darling, I am " Thine ? " 


October 3, 1869. 


The Best. 


Of gems — the diamond I'd wear ; 


Of jewels — naught but cameos rare ; 


Of friends — I'd chose the one most true ; 


Of enemies — the knightliest too ; 


Of drinks — I'd take the royal wine ; 


Of robes — the purple hue divine ; 


Of air — the freshest ; metals — gold ; 


Of followers — hearts devout and bold ; 


Of one to love — by land or sea. 


Afar or near, I'd have but thee. 


October 20, 1869. 


El Leon Pencido Porel Hombre. 


Cierto artifice pinto. 


Una lucha en que valiente 



200 



Un homlbre tan solamente 
A un horrible leon vencio : 
Otro leon quel el cuadro vlo 
Sin preguntar por su autor 
En tono despreciedor 
Dijo ! bien se deja de ver 
Que es pintar como querer. 
Z no fue Leon el pintor. 

TEANSLATION. 

An artist in the days bygone 

Painted a fight, in which a man, 
In valiant struggle all alone, 

Yanquished a lion fierce and tan. 
Another lion saw the work, 

And straight without a question said, 
With a contemptuous tone and smirk : 

" 'Tis easy here to see who spread 
His wishes on the canvas centre ; 

'Tis plain no lion was the painter." 

Adversity, it is said, hath its uses. I doubt that ; but while 
testing the preference I had for exile in Mexico over Yankee dom- 
ination, I studied Spanish. Among other consoling things I found 
an old fable, a translation of which I respectfully dedicate to the 
newspaper reporters of the North. 

November 9, 1869. 




A Sunday Evening Reverie. 

If Grod makes useful all that He has made, 

When earth's ephemeral human race and earth 

Have been and perished in the laspe of time, 

What use can come of thoughtful souls in hell 

If doulbts require persuasion more than faith ? 

For 'tis a simpler task to yield belief. 

And give no reason for the act of faith. 

Than give good reason for suggested doubt ; 

Yet have some doubts a force we meet in vain — 

Lives come into the world and pass away. 

Whence come we ? and what are we ? whither bound? 

The source, creation, is beyond our ken ; 

And what we are none know, yet all discourse — 

And whither are we bound God knows, not we. 

We argue for eternal life, because 

It hurts our starveling vanity to die ; 

Yet no assurance e'er comes back to us 

From the unknown hereafter, save the strains 

Of weird imagination, and a faith 

Rewarding our belief without a proof, 

Of things so doubtful that all proofs we have 

Are like the miracles ascribed to Jove. 



202 



He moulded with antiquity and the mist 

Of heathen priest-craft, and the fahled tales 

Of Roman or Egyptian auguries ; 

And yet if these convince not, we are told, 

Quite curtly too, sometimes with curse and threat, 

Belief is right without a reason why ; 

But reasoning without faith is heresy. 

Is not intelligence the immortal part ? 

Shall stupid goodness outlive daring wit. 

And from the fixed emoluments of heaven 

Soar forth to visit on angelic wings 

The worlds that wicked doubters scoffed while here, 

Revealing laws of God's organic skill, 

And yet the knowing ones be chained in hell, 

Able to teach what angels need to know, 

Yet cast in useless darkness to endure 

The torture they would ne'er inflict on brutes, 

Because they were too wise to gloat on pain ? 

'Tis a strange doctrine that to doubt is death, 

Yet not more strange than that belief is life. 

Both faith and reason are the gifts of Grod — 

" Use one, ignore the other ; " madmen cry 

" Believe or die ; " for if you can't believe, 

Your death is well deserved, because you can't 



203 



Believe, because you do "believe, and go 
Straight up to heaven for service by and by, 
Where such intelligence as this implies 
Tends fit employment in celestial love. 
And yet can they say this who say they think 
That God's all governing control is such 
That, infinite in being and in power. 
He moulds all to His will, as plastic clay 
Is moulded by the deft designer's touch. 

November 21, 1869. 



To the memory of that promising and untimely fate member of the 
St. Louis bar, 

Mr. Jabez L. North. 

Without a foe, without a fear, 
Without a fault, a man sincere 

In all he thought and said ; 
His was the loftiest, manly aim — 
A useful life, devoid of blame. 

Unselfish, brave, well-bred. 

Whate'er that future state may be. 
When friends, revivified, shall see 



The friends held dear on earth ; 
Dear North! thy soul will join that band 
Who love, in that celestial land, 
Refinement, sense and worth. 
St. Louis, Jan. 9, 1S70. 



To — 

Oh ! lady, list the voice of one 

Who would not lift a note of praise. 
If outward loveliness alone 

Required the tribute of his lays ; 
But when both heart and soul unite 

To give to beauty's fleeting spell 
A charm unutterably bright, 

A something of immortal light. 
No gifted tongue can tell — 

How can I longer silent be ? 

Yet while I speak would counsel still. 
That now and ever, fixed in thee. 

Eternal truth may guide thy will ! 
So thoughts that in my bosom rest. 

Soft heaving to a shrine so fair, 



205 



Shall be witli holy fragrance blest, 
As dew-drops on the lily's breast 
Imbibe a sweetness there ! 

Thus with a strength beyond thy years, 

In simple majesty of worth. 
Thy soul shall tower above the fears 

And changing circumstance of earth. 
Amid the cares that most annoy, 

Thou shalt in fadeless beauty shine ; 
For surely these cannot destroy. 

Nor stain the part without alloy. 
The part which is divine ! 

January 16tli, 1870. 



Home— Sunday, 

To sing, and be happy in singing, 

The songs the cold-hearted disdain — 
To spring, and be cheerful in springing, 

To soothe the distressed in their pain — 
To give, and be joyful in giving, 

Relief to the wretched and weak — 
Is life, while we live worth the living, 

Though all the world round us be bleak. 

Jan. 20, 1870. 



•2)6 



Arcana. 

The golden glow of evening rays, 
Imprisoned by the burnished clouds, 

Is milder than the mid-day blaze 

Of beams that flood the noon in crowds. 

And thus the secret joys we build, 
Restricted boundaries though they own, 

Are rosier than the hues that gild 
The glare of full- day's gaudy throne. 

Eeb. 24:, 1870— In U. S. District Court Room. 



To A Fifteenth Amendment Politician. 

Gro breathe the Afric scented air, 

Frequent polluted spots, 
Caress the rabble every- where. 

Be friends with drunken sots. 

Be called " great man " by lousy knaves, 

Until you think it true ; 
Nor stop to think that Satan paves 

All hell with such as you. 



207 



Shrink from the gaze of decent men, 
Compound with vice and shame ; 

Get office, steal, take gifts, and then 
Call this success and fame. 

April 14, 1870. 



Lines. 

[To an Imaginary Being.] 

Far in the night I scan the bending sky. 
To tind the star of purest, brightest ray ; 

To center there the worship of mine eye, 
Unheeding all the orbs that round it play : 

So through the empyrean of my thoughts I turn, 

And all save one fair planet thence I spurn. 

Far in the night, when vigil lone I keep, 

When eyes hold tears that lend the cheek a smile, 

When foot-falls cease, and songs are hushed in sleep. 
My soul takes wing, and flies to thee awhile ; 

To hover o'er thee, wheresoe'er thou art. 

And seek its image mirrored in the heart. 

Far in the night an influence I feel, 
That links the mountain, river, lake, and plain 



20S 



Witli lightning flash, without the thunder peal 

Transmitting. " Passion is akin to pain." 
And then a soundless voice, soft, sweet, and clear, 
A message nameless whispers in mine ear. 

Far in the night I loathe the splendid world, 
With daring thoughts despising all save thee, 

Till hope, out-dazzled and unwinged, is hurled 
From heights Olympian to the Icarean sea ; 

From loftier realms than mortal pinions sweep, 

Below despair's wide ocean, dark and deep. 

July, 1870. 



Masonic College, Lexington, Mo. 

Battered and grim are thy classic walls, 
Deserted and ruined thy murky halls, 

And the bats flit in and out. 
Thy portals are gray with untimely decay. 
And the windows are wasted and broken away, 

Where merry eyes once looked out. 

Libraries, pictures, retorts, and the lore 
In the laboratory's curious store. 
Were scattered by vandal hands. 



209 



A nolble brotherhood's money and toil 
Were destined to fall as the fruitless spoil 
Of the rabble of other lands. 

Shade trees that sheltered our youthful play, 
Remorselessly too have been all cut away, 

Replaced by the fort and ditch ; 
And in Liberty's name they give us the blame 
Of defending our own from the forcible claim 

Of the Christians who burnt the witch. 

21st Aug., 1870. 



Saint Joseph. 

There's beauty in the River bend, when morning's 
early beam 

Flings down its flood of light upon yon broad ma- 
jestic stream, 

When cloudlets fleck the plain beyond with many 
a changing hue, 

And Blacksnake hills receding melt in distance dim 
and blue. 

There's beauty in the River bend, when noonday sun 
is high. 



210 



When earth seems struggling to reflect tlie glory of 

the sky, 
Where steamers proudly move and breathe like 

things of life and power, 
And every gaudy shrub puts forth its sweetlier 

pleading flower. 

There's beauty in the River bend, when at the sun- 
set glow 

The gold and purple mount the sky and tinge the 
wave below, 

When glowing wheels and clattering hoofs their 
cheerful music make, 

And cheeks with honest crimson glow from driving 
to the lake. 

There's beauty in the pictured dream of moonlit 

Prospect hill, 
When, though afar, it seems to rise in vivid outline 

still. 
And gives me back, through years and tears, the 

bright young form that stood 
Beside me there — oh ! vision rare ! the brilliant and 

the good. 



211 



There's beauty in each starry hour, when night sup- 
plants the day, 

And beauty still when drowned in light the planets 
sink away ; 

By day, by night, by land or River bend, ! city 
fair! 

Thy children need but look to see there's beauty 
every-where. 

St. Louis, Oct. 30, 1870. 



The Raindrop. 

1 heard a little drop of rain 
Fall on my darkened window pane, 
And as it broke the silence there 
Its whisper floated on the air. 

That whisper, for it was no more, 

A mystic revelation bore — 

The lonely silence as it broke — 

And these the words the raindrop spoke 

" Ten thousand years their labors lent 
To form me in the firmament, 
And every element a share 
Contributed to fix me there. 



212 



" Thus bright and beautifully born, 
With lines a rainbow to adorn, 
My native realms appeared so high 
I deemed my destiny the sky. 

" But in the moment of my birth 
I found myself impelled to earth. 
And to my parent cycles cried. 
In wild despair, my wounded pride. 

" Is this the end of all your care. 
Your tutelage in the upper air ? 
Were my creative hopes in vain ? 
Must I be merged in clouds and rain ? " 

The centuries this word returned : 
" Think not thy beauties we have spurned. 
For thee, all piteous as thou art. 
There is a mission set apart. 

" In this dark fall against thy will 
Thou canst alone that mission fill ; 
And when apparently destroyed, 
Thy uses first will be employed ! 



213 



" Grand things depend upon the small, 
Each part essential is to all ; 
When seeming to oblivion hurled, 
A raindrop helps revive a world ! 

" Thou shalt in other forms endure, 
Ethereal, reproduced and pure ; 
All parts of vast creation's plan 
Are fixed by law — escape none can." 

" Content with this, oblivion's host. 
That perish, yet are never lost, 
I joined with countless drops of rain, 
And fell — yet who dare say in vain ? " 

Thus spoke the little drop of rain. 
That whispered on my window pane. 
And sparkling in the lamp light threw 
A dying flash like diamond true. 

" Celestial messenger," I cried, 
" Since none in vain have lived and died. 
Be death and dark oblivion mine, 
The humblest misson is divine ! " 

Nov. 15, 1870. 



214 



Beauties of the Sky. 

Oh ! purple glow in the sunset sky ! 
Speak to the ear as thou dost to the eye, 
And tell us the cause, and the reason why. 
Thy fleeting and golden glories are given 
To wrap the earth in the beauties of heaven. 

Is silent beauty a useful thing ? 

Yea, it aids us to lift with angels the wing, 

And to the sad soul sweet peace to bring; 

Tho' it clothe not the needy, nor the hungry give 

food, 
It wins the lone spirit to dwell with the good. 

1871. 



Blair's First Speech in the Senate. 

One giant yet is left. 

Colossal in the land. 
To prove the antique models cleft 

In marble pure and grand. 
Were proto-types of this our day, 
Foretold in ages passed away. 
Bravo for Blair ! 



215 



" Eepiiblic " is a name 

Aspiring chieftains hate ; 
Monopolists of wealth and fame 

Must overthrow the state. 
Oh ! for one hero in such hour, 
To check the growth of one-man power. 
Bravo for Blair ! 

One voice at last is heard, 

Designing schemes to mar ; 
One freeman, faithful to his word, 

In peace as well as war-^ 
As fearless in the senate hall 
As facing shell and minnie-ball. 
Bravo for Blair ! 

Needs man a master yet? 

Deserve we this disgrace ? 
Can foeman trust the bayonet 

At freedom's voting place ? 
If these be needful, danger still 
Reposes in the people's will ! 
Bravo for Blair ! 

Down with the tyrant's plea, 
Down with the bristling arms ! 



While these remain, not all are free 

From despotism's harms. 
Armed innovations we condemn, 
Let those trust us — not we trust them. 
Bravo for Blair ! 

Feb. 15, 1871. 



The Mountain Spring. 

A mountain spring far inland, to a hermit passing by, 
In plaintive whisper murmured, " I believe I will go 

dry ; 
I see no use in struggling to maintain a brooklet here, 
For birds and beasts but rarely come, and no one 

else comes near. 

"Besides, I am obscure and small, while all the 

world takes pride 
In grand expensive reservoirs, and rivers full and 

wide ; 
To commerce I am worthless, for no bark could float 

on me. 
Nor do I think one drop of mine can ever reach the 

sea." 



217 



Then said the hermit to the spring, " Your story I 
have heard, 

But think you 'tis a little thing to soothe a little bird ? 

If from the world's creation you had flowed un- 
touched and clear, 

One sip to cool some tongue athirst were worth 
your being here. 

" Should every little thing refuse to do what good it 

can, 
How soon the infinite result would spoil the general 

plan ; 
Then do your duty, little spring, send forth your 

waters bright. 
Each one of multitudes like you makes up the 

ocean's might." 

Feb. 17, ISri. 



The Teetotaler's Ideal Bibation. 

O ! give me some delicate wine, 
Less gross than the rosy Moselle, 

Whose flavor like nectar divine 
Will everything mortal dispel ; 

Not something that flushes, 



But something that hushes, 

The red tide of life in the breast — 

To gently o'ercome me, 

And gently benumb me. 
Until I feel willing to rest. 

There is none so exquisite made — 

Then no tempting poison for me ! 
Give spurs to the scrub and the jade, 

But let the free courser run free. 
If there is none of it, 
This wine that I covet, 

No counterfeit fluid I'll taste ; 
If manhood claims glory. 
What shame in the story 

Of primitive manhood debased. 

Then give me some delicate wine. 
To soothe and to quiet rude care ; 

For something exalting I pine, 

When pressed by my burden of care ; 

And yet something harmless and fine, 
Unfollowed by ache or despair ; 

So cheap that to drink it 

Will not make me think it 



A selfish indulgence of mine. 
Not taxed until scanty, 
But flowing and plenty — 

Cold water is God's chosen wine. 

March 6, 1871. 



A Pure Name. 

Among the maids immortal born, 
To shine in glory's blazing sky. 

Till glory fades in Heaven's morn, 
Thy name shall be the last to die. 

keep it ever fair and pure ! 

Unstained and spotless, as sublime, 
That while its music shall endure 

'Twill sweeten with the lapse of time; 

Transmitting to an age remote, 

In thy example, marked and known, 
One brilliant type that shall denote 

The heart wherein thou hast thy throne- 
That will in days far hence inspire 

The tempted maid from vice and shame, 



And woo to virtue and to bliss — 
To that age be, as tliou to tbis. 

When Time assails thy gentle brow, 
And Pain's unsparing hand takes hold, 

Thou will be young in fame as now 
Thy wisdom seemeth old. 

May 11, 1871. 



The Adieu of a Graduate. 

Like barks that from one port have sailed 

To trace the ocean's devious breast, 
Where storms have over all prevailed. 

And few have found success and rest : 
So we life's ocean now must try, 

Not knowing what may lie before, 
And only able to descry 

The outlines of receding shore. 

Some will be beckoned to the West, 
And some the Orient will woo ; 

But all will love the home port best, 
And bless its terra flrma true. 



Life's ocean glows with luring lights, 
That signal us to different ways, 

But like fixed stars in azure heights 

Shine precepts learned in youthful days. 

Celestial faith — our Polar Star — 

May reach with its divergent ray 
Our several hearts, tho' sundered far, 

And safely guide our wandering way. 
And so will He, who doth all well, 

Oar destinies remote unite, 
As o'er the ocean's wide, wide swell, 

One sky tucks in the world at night. 

As doth His all-uniting love 

Reveal to our uplifted gaze 
One shining heaven that bends above. 

And downward lets its glories blaze : 
So souls that tremble toward His throne, 
He unifies and makes His own, 
That present, absent, near or far, 
They gaze alike on one fixed star ; 
And influenced by its rays serene. 
Feel near — though oceans roll between. 

June 12, 1871. 



The Ideal. 

Within my heart an image dwells, 
Too beauteous for the limner's skill ; 

Whose power each rising passion quells, 
And bids my stormy soul — be still ! 

Not all the craft of Raphael's brush 
To canvas could that face transfer ; 

Nor is there need of light to flush 
Its features o'er with radiance clear. 

At midnight hour its glow is bright 
As when its tints defy the sun ; 

No darkness can obscure the light 
It sheds for me — when day is done. 

For me it shines — for me alone — 

Its sacred beauty is for me ; 
Does it resemble any one ? 

Yes, darling — it but copies thee. 

June 12, 1872. 



Imaginary. 



Another year ! Another year ! 
And thou art there, and I am here ; 



223 



The days, the niglits, the weeks are gone, 
The months to age-like ends have drawn ; 
The vernal Ibnds, the summer leaves, 
The birds that sang o'er autamn sheaves, 
Have come and gone, and hated snow 
Recalls the flakes of bitter woe 
That fell and froze — a j^ear ago. 

Another year ! Another year ! 
And thou art there, and I am here ; 
Again the flakes seem downward driven. 
Like curses thick from vengeful Heaven ; 
Yet still I cling, with desperate hand. 
To hope's poor crumbling rope of sand. 
As drowning sailors, chilled and numb — 
Not speechless, only faint and dumb — 
Not lifeless, drift — and dream of home. 

Another year ! Another year ! 
And thou art there, and I am here ; 
And ah ! when we were forced to part, 
Had some weird vision told my heart 
That I could live to see this day. 
With thee, my life, my soul, away— 



Away and silent — I would fain 

Have summon all up in one short pain, 

Before the snow had fallen again. 

Another year ! Another year ! 

And thou art there, and I am here ; 

'Tis said we must "be purified, 

As metal in the fire is tried ; 

That suffering in this world of strife 

Is discipline for higher life : 

I know not, care not, seek not bliss 

Attained at such a cost as this ; 

I crave no Heaven beyond thy kiss ! 

Another year ! Another year ! 

And thou art there, and I am here ; 

E'en yet word music lingers still, 

Like echo on some distant hill ; 

And thoughts that were all crude before, 

Entombed like shapeless hoards of ore 

In nature's rich, yet dingy mine. 

Have through this furnace, love, of thine. 

Been moulded into shapes divine. 

Jan. 1st, 1873. 



In Memory of Chas. R. Davis. 

The uplifted hand of the smiter 

Hangs heavy and sore over all ; 
It strikes down the reader and writer, 

It spares not the great nor the small ; 
But the blow seems more dire and unsparing, 

And grief seems the hardest to bear. 
When the gifted, the good and the daring. 

Are torn from the world they make fair. 

There's a gap in the phalanx of labor, 

A rift in a chain hard to mend ; 
The scholar, the thinker, the neighbor, 

No less to be mourned than the friend ; 
The good and the manly will miss him. 

As one of their boldest and best ; 
But alas ! for the lips that will kiss him, 

And lay him away to his rest. 

St. Louis, July 21, 1873. 

Poor Davis '. the last time I saw him he was well and hearty at 
the frolic at the Globe's First Anniversary. That was Friday, ISth. 
Monday I wrote the above lines, upon hearing of his death. — 
A. W. S. 



A Coquette. 
" I have no heart, and this," she said, 

" I told yon long ago ; 
I've torn it piecemeal, shred by shred — 
Its pulse is there, its feeling dead. 
Extinct volcanoes mostly know 
The regions of supernal snow. 
Call words but breath ; 
There is no faith." 
Stop ! say not so. Ah ! say not so ! 

" I've changed my mind, and you," she said, 

" Can do the same, you know. 
My kisses will not linger long. 
And you can find relief in song. 
The poet's soul was made to know 
The heights of joy, the depths of woe : 
The callous breast 
Allures him best." 
Stop ! say not so. Ah ! say not so ! 

" If you must love, you can," she said, 
" Love some one else, you know. 
The world is full of beauteous flowers ; 
Go seek them in more welcome bowers ; 



227 



Woo some one else, and let me go 
My ways — I have enongli to do ; 
Time lost, I dare 
No longer spare." 
Stop ! say not so. Ah ! say not so ! 

Dec. 3, 1873. 



Wish You My Name. 

Answer to a Frencli Song. 

Wish you my name ? It is for thee ! 
Wish you my goods ? Tbey too are thine 

With all my heart I give them thee, 
If your bright eyes on me will shine, 

If you'll repose awhile with me, 

That you may know how I love thee. 
Ah ! that you knew how I love you ! 

Wish you my heart ? It is for you ; 
'Tis just as well that you should know 

That I have nothing — nothing, dear — 
Nothing that can to me pertain 

That is not thine by title clear. 
Ah ! take my heart ! It is for you : 

If only lioio I love, you knew; 
If JioiD I love, you only knew I 



1873. 



Aspiration. 
To mould some thought, to say some word, 
Above, beyond, the common herd. 
Whose fame would live in after-time — 
Some act, some utterance sublime. 
Some teaching to lift up mankind, 
Some precept lofty and refined. 
Some plea for love to everything 
That nature dooms to suffering, 
Or bold rebuke of human wrong, 
No matter where the fault belong — 
To do, to say, to think, to write. 
Some novel thing each day and night, 
Yet leave behind some sample best 
To live, as token of the rest, 
Expression of the homage due 
From faithful heart to heart as true : 
Be this my life's ambition high, 
To cheer me when I come to die. 

July 30, 1873. 



Lines, 

To a Pretty Teacher of the French Language. 

While tints that tinge the autumn woods 
Lend beauty to the hill and plain. 



Teach me thy tenses and thy moods, 
Let me thy charming accent gain : 
Lead me not into poet's page, 
But read from some Platonic sage. 

" Tres Men ; " the wise Confucius said, 
" Be calm ; observe the ' aiu mileau!' " 

Ah ! had he seen thy classic head, 
Or felt thine eyes of dazzling blue, 

The wisest ancient would have known 

He could not call his heart his own. 

" Act when alone as if ten eyes 
Were on you with ten pointing hands." 

'Tis easy to philosophize 

On something no one understands : 

Could he have seen thy hands of snow, 

He would have let all others go. 

" Keep your affections well controlled, 
O ! Prince, if you would govern well." 

The sage's words are wise and bold ; 
His princess never knew the spell 

That swells the bosom of a bard, 

Beneath thy magic " prenez garde^ 



230 



" Say nothing you would wish to change," 
The prudent old preceptor taught ; 

But had he come within thy range, 

Thy glance would many a vow have caught ; 

And then, as from thy mirth he fled. 

He would have wished his words unsaid. 

So on, we might the page pursue. 
But why redouble proofs so plain ? 

Confucius never dreamed of you, 
Nor studied French on railway train : 

His old philosophy was fine, 

But modern learning is divine. 

Oct. 30, 1873. 



Too Swift. 



Ah ! stay your flight, evasive hours, 

And linger once with folded wings ; 
Forbear with swiftly hastening powers 

To speed the bliss that loving brings. 
Be fleet with those who suffer ill. 

Be spoilers where they wish thee gone ; 
But bid the sun of life stand still, 

While love's soft spell is round me drawn. 



231 



Let eacli dear glance consume a day, 

Let each fond word an hour destroy ; 
While to replace each tress astray 

A month caressingly employ. 
Life is but laughter, love and tears, 

With laughter then and tears be swift ; 
But linger out the happy years — 

This glimpse of Heaven through clouds arift. 

March 3, 1874. 



Betrayal. 



What fiend Plutonic nerves the arm 
That does the unsuspecting harm, 
And injuries that have no end 
Inflicts upon a bosom friend ! 

To cast a shade on shining name, 
To doom to ruin rising fame. 
To plant the wound, so hard to heal, 
On side exposed to treacherous steel! 

All these are base, but baser still 
Is he whose smile betides no ill, 
Invites the trust of winsome maid. 
And ruins, ere he makes afraid. 



'23-2 



All ! woe to bim who can betray 
The faith that flings mistrust away ; 
For shuddering demons cannot tell 
A crime more hideous in hell. 

May, 1874. 



To AN Imaginary Correspondent. 

What answer? Not a word or line ! 

Though oft I've called to thee ; 
There does not come a single sign 

From yonder soundless sea. 
No echo even to the words 

From parted lips that fly, 
Yet perish like the laden birds 

That on the desert die. 

In anguish all complaint is hushed, 

Except the voice of song, 
And that I've stifled back and crushed 

With struggles fierce and strong, 
Until, like some resistless tide, 

That sweeps down every stay, 
Wild numbers burst the bounds of pride. 

And dash restraint away. 



When thus the mastery is o'erthrown 

In duty's desolate domain, 
The only solace to me known 

Has been to yield the strife so vain, 
And, looking up in mortal woe. 

Appeal to God for strength to bear 
The burden that no heart can know, 

And none, save thine and mine, can share. 

May 2, 1874. 



"My Shrine." 



Upon my mantel, in a row, 
Four simple pictures glow, 
With shining frames about them placed 
Of neat and modest taste ; 
Four images of daughters mine. 
Four little darlings, rare and line, 
Whose faces beam with light divine — 
And here I've made my shrine. 

The place is more like sacred ground 
Than any I have found ; 
No dome of fresco reared by art 
Can so impress my heart : 



23-4 



'Tis here I feel remorse begin. 
With contrite grief for every sin ; 
And faults that, close to crime akin, 
Make heaven so hard to win. 

And here my soul, remote from crowds. 
Is shadowed by no clouds ; 
Aloof at last from tangling care, 
I lift to God my prayer ; 
And He that doth in secret see 
In secret seems to answer me, 
For sake of these, that I may be 
From secret sin kept free. 

Alone, I seek at this pure shrine 
The face of Grod divine. 
In public no one is sincere, 
For all are tinged with fear ; 
But here my heart is all laid bare 
To Him who doth for sparrow care ; 
To him I lift a parent's prayer — 
" Wilt Thou these children spare ! 

" May they be happy in their loves. 
And innocent as doves ; 



235 



May they, as dangliters, sweethearts, wives, 
Be honest in their lives ; 
And while none others they deceive, 
Lead them no falsehoods to believe. 
That might, too late, their spirits grieve — 
Poor drifting bairns of Eve ! 

" Of wicked vice, debased and low, 

Let them not even know ; 

Like their own mother, let them be 

From affectation free ; 

And ere their dying lips are dumb 

Grant them faith's victory o'er the tomb, 

And let them to Thy kingdom come 

In yonder heavenly home." 

This is my prayer, I say and feel, 

As at my shrine I kneel ; 

And lo ! though absent far and wide, 

I think them at my side ; 

And hosts celestial come and go, 

On radiant wings as white as snow, 

Till heaven above and heaven below 

Have made my shrine aglow. 



23G 



But no intruding eye could see 
The light that shines on me ; 
For little pictures on the wall 
To others would be all ; 
And yet to me the thought is given 
Of such the kingdom is of heaven ; 
And from this shrine despair is driven 
By hope to be forgiven. 

Aug. 28, 1874. 



Indian Summer. 

The russet, brown October leaves 
The frost and sun are tinging o'er, 

And safe amid the garnered sheaves 

The field mouse hides her winter's store. 

The spider mounts her gauzy stair, 

Her flight on home-made wings she lifts, 
And lazy on the languid air 
A fleecy cloud at random drifts. 

Through azure depths the sunbeams pour 
On woodlands crowned with gorgeous dyes, 

And town and village raise once more 
Their smoky columns toward the skies. 



237 



What is it in this autumn scene 

That from the past seems asking me 

If it was summer — that has been ? 
If it is winter — that must he ? 

I know not ! yet a voice is gone, 

Whose tones gave music to the spring ; 
And dreary months must hope, hope on, 

Ere back again that voice 'twill bring. 
I know not ! yet remember well 

The summer warmth, and glow, and light 
That once on such a day befell 

A heart now plunged in gloom and night. 
I know not ! yet the past has shown 

That leaves may wither, snows may fall, 
Yet love be faithful to its own, 

And hearts be changeless after all. 

October 13, ]87-i. 



Arthur Barrett's Funeral. 

A mournful dirge swells from the street. 
From lofty spires the bells are tolling — 

And, followed by slow marching feet, 
The voiceless, stately hearse is rolling. 



Chief magistrate of mighty city, 
Fresh from the victory and the strife ; 

Love, hate, revenge, all melt to pity. 
For such an end to such a life. 

But deeper than all outward grieving 
Feel those hot eyes whence tears have fled ; 

Who loved less Mayor than man when living, 
And mourn the man, not Mayor, when dead ! 

April 27, 1875. 



A Curiosity of Rhyme. 

Where Ignorance is Bliss, 'tis Voullaire to be Wise : 
So Sharpe a Jeck-0 ! who will Kreiter-cise ? 
Cunningham argument studied Knight and Day ; 
No Wag-nor Duke can always hold at Bay ! 
For High or Lowe, in Comfort or in Payne, 
The ousters Spes will be to oust again. 
The Wolff of Justice, Poepping from her Wood, 
Dis- Arm-strong Kehrs, and Knox them into Goode ; 
She comes, and on her comes a pilgrim Grey, 
To Deck-er turf — perhaps to rob Barclay ! 
To Fletch-er bacon, or her Castle-burry, 



239 



With gifts to flatter, rich and grey and very. 
The time for Yast-ine-terments is at hand ; 
The Jew-ett cetera join our band. 
Beyond what lawyers get for fees (except Black- 
Jerry) 
Will hring down wrathful verdicts in a hurry. 
Be Mum-for to decay disposed no saint, 
Nor sinner either, can Espy life's taint 
In time to Shield the insatiate Archer's Blow, 
When at his Marks the Bowman bends his bow. 
Long Daily to be free, 

Those who bow and smile and bend the knee 
To Rankin Posts with Bishop and Pope, 
Rum-bower Peeples with every hope. 
The Ewing Birds Light-high-sir, when they soar; 
O'Kneel ! and Polk your Dryden fun no Moore. 
To Taussig, Noble, Smiths, with Brown Redd hands. 
Pay Williams' Sterling, but pay Mils to Shands ; 
And Broadhead bands by Garish aid make Chase. 
With Gantt-let Glove-or magisterial Mace. 
Although no Mauro rainbow of the past be seen, 
From Snowy White to Hughes of Brown and Green, 
Keep Cullen's Kitchen Gardiners in close sight — 
You are no Peacock, but a Clay-born wight. 



240 



Carroll and Whittle cedar as he goes, 
Dismiss his muse and prosecute his prose ; 
Like Law-rents, when Higged-on, imp-Loring cries, 
Will whisk down judgment from the wrathful skies ; 
And Treat with Dyer contempt all rules of Wright, 
To right the wrong of what you write to-night. 
Will Hitch-cock-ades of Clover, Brown and Gray, 
Till Fields of Corne-will Woods of Moss display. 
Audacious Bard, I bid you now be- Ware, 
Such liberties with names no Page will bear ; 
You must not Lett-on at such a Boyle-lng rate, 
A new Keber Bell-ion you'll inaugurate. 

It was the intention of Col. Slaybacfe to place the names of all 
the Lawyers at the Bar in this piece, but it was never finished, 
and some lines had to be left out on tbat account. 



The Dead Judge. 

He was a learned man — with ease could quote 

All kinds of fine things he had learned by rote ; 

And as to law, he knew it, and could feel 

As sure as we do, when we take appeal : 

And searching books would somehow always find, 

Without convincing his own mind, 



241 



That if tlie court should decide 

Against him, he their ruling must abide. 

He had his faults, but these we will not name, 

'Tis only of his virtues we declaim ; 

And yet, upon reflection, we admit 

He somewhat spoilt all these with traits not fit 

To expatiate upon just now, but still 

'Tis only fair to those in grief to tell 

The usual, customed and respected lie, 

That we condole with them, yet all must die ; 

And since his turn mysteriously came first. 

Surviving hearts should struggle not to burst 

With hopeless sorrow, and will feel less bad. 

Apologizing for the faults he had. 

With this view only we will name a few 

For which he was distinguished, and review — 

" De TTiortuis nil " — and so forth, lest some head 

Might take the notion we disliked the dead ; 

But for the instruction of surviving youth. 

And for the warning, we must say in truth, 

That this man viciously sat up at night, 

Hours that belonged to sleep, and then would write 

Some things 'twere best they were unwritten quite. 

He was, unfortunately, much inclined 



On painful subjects too to speak his mind ; 
And that was not the best of minds always, 
We solemnly admit, tho' prone now but to praise. 

Still he is gone, and what he's done is done : 
I move committees, to consist of one, 
Each court of record shall the judges bore 
By a recital of what we now deplore ; 
And also one to find if there be those 
Dependent on him needy in their woes — 
That some of us may, 'spite this heterodoxy. 
Attend his funeral, and give cash by proxy. 

This speech elicited subdued applause, 
And buzzing sanction filled the ensuing pause. 
When up there rose a face with busier turn, 
And moved that, sine die, "we adjourn." 

1875. 



The Undertaker. 

By onerous profits wreaked from the distressed. 
Who count not cost while grief distracts the breast. 
The crafty oppressor drives his gilded hearse, 
And adds to death's bereavement one more curse : 



243 



The costly pomp of fashionable grief. 
That grasps from sorrow what would shame a thief 
The impoverished widow and her orphans sigh 
For him who died, and what he cost to die. 



The Departed. 

The busy wheels roll o'er the humming street, 
The sidewalks echo to the tread of feet, 
New faces come and go and pass away, 
And those we miss are missed but for a day ; 
And those who stir and meet and greet awhile. 
And feverish hours with cares intense beguile, 
Are hastening, hurrying dust unto its dust. 
To prove belief less strange than cold mistrust. 

1875. 



Some Mistaken Prophecies. 

You said that time would change my heart, 
That tender words were frail as air ; 

You said that should our pathways part. 
We soon would learn to love elsewhere ; 



But long, long years have passed since then, 
And we have wandered devious ways, 

Yet none among adoring men 
Has loved as I have loved always. 

You said by searching I would find 

Some hand more free, some eye more blue, 
Some soul as beautiful and kind, 

Some heart as tender and as true ; 
Yet every fair one I have met 

Has brought to memory anew 
The charms I never can forget, 

The loveliness supreme in you. 

You said if time should prove you wrong. 

Some future day you might incline 
To listen to my sad love song, 

And may be then you could be mine ; 
And joys divine it brings to me 

To know that, when my hand you press. 
It is not in your heart to be 

Unmindful of my faithfulness. 

Sept. 11, 1875. 



245 



Grief. 

Within each human heart there dwells 

Some grief too bitter to be told, 
Some sorrow that no token tells, 

Nor eye intrusive can behold. 

And yet the pangs we thus conceal 

Would never be so keenly felt. 
Did not the conscious bosom feel 

Its silence half way due to guilt. 

A phantom enters, saying " you did right" — 
Another passes, saying " no, 'twas wrong " — 

And thus throughout the sleepless, wretched night. 
Disputing thoughts their arguments prolong ; 

Thus hearts must throb until return of light, 

" Who learn through suffering what they teach in 
song." 

Dec. 6, 1875. 



Imaginary. 



When round me all the world is gay 
With sounds of gladness, scenes of mirth, 



The tliouglit that thou art far away 
Makes love too sad a thing for earth. 

At such a time I feel how lone, 
How far from sympathy I dwell, 

And pine for joys no longer known, 
With sorrow that no tongue can tell, 

'Tis then that most I miss the one 
Who wears Elysium in her face ; 

My heart's adored ! my queen ! my own ! 
Who gives to life its only grace. 

'Tis then, my best beloved, I ache 
To know if I'm best loved by thee. 

And wonder if a heart can break 
While vainly struggling to be free. 

'Tis then I sink from self away. 
And plunge in waves of wordly care, 

Regardless how the storms may play 
Above the billows of despair. 

Dec. 30, 1875. 



A Common Lot. 

Oft in the heart a secret lies 
Unuttered and unshown, 



217 



That neitlier tongue, nor lips, nor eyes, 
ISTor hand, nor face makes known. 

Oft in the breast a passion dwells. 
That makes or mars a life ; 

Yet not one outward signal tells 
The inward fire and strife. 

Oft in the soul, devotion's eye 

Its constant vigil keeps, 
With tenderness that cannot die, 

And zeal that never sleeps. 

Oft in the brain a purpose lives, 

Heroic and divine. 
That courage all enduring gives 

To die — and make no sign. 

Dec. 1, 1876. 



Unrest. 



Sick at heart and sore of brain, 
AVeary of a heart so vain — 
Jaded down with worldly strife, 
With its madd'ning thrusts at life, 



With, its war upon the good, 
With its base ingratitude, 
With its ever fickle praise, 
With its carping blame always — 
With its doubtful, slow rewards, 
With its doom-lilie, lost regards — 
With its over-rated gold. 
Hard to get, and hard to hold — 
With its gems, so bright, so vain, 
Easier lost than to attain — 
With its horrors, dark and dread. 
With its struggles fierce for bread — 
With its scandal to provoke 
Character-assailing joke — 
Smile derisive of disdain, 
Frown so gloomful like with pain — 
Sudden pangs and fleeting joys, 
Life filled up with sham deploys : 
Where shall unrest find an end ? 
Who can- joy and blessing send ? 
Shall the soul e'er seek in vain 
Antidote for earth's dark bane ? 



Anticipation. 

Will tlie thoughts of the by -gone years come back ? 

Will the boyhood dreams return ? 
When honor and truth laid down the track 

For zeal and youth to devoutly yearn 

To^run upon, and the prize to earn, 

In the world's great race for fame? 

Will the love that was honest and faithful last ? 

Will it live when others die ? 
Will the cold world enter with chilling blast 

The precincts warm of my loving heart. 

When the world I knew was a world apart 

From this cheerless place of sin ? 

Will the faith that made youth so fair grow dim ? 

Will it all dissolve in doubt ? 
Will the great world's music make the hymn 

My mother sang less grand and fine 

When my ear grows used to the strains divine 

Of the organ's thundering tone ? 

Will the bliss of my boyhood joy still live 

When the wise old age has come ? 
Will the conflagration flame and live 



•J50 



When the fires of strife have raged and rolled ? 
Will ambition's torch be out and cold 
That enkindled all this blaze ? 

Jan. 12, 1877. 



Lake Minnetonka. 

All quiet on the azure lake the summer sunshine lay, 

And fair upon its bluish waves the sail-boats gem- 
med the bay; 

The flowers beside the roadway gave the air a sweet 
perfume, 

And far more fair than they was she who watched 
with me their bloom. 

The summer flowers have faded now along the lake- 
side shore. 

And she who breathed their incense then is at my 
side no more ; 

The sails that gemmed the bay are gone far o'er the 
shining waves. 

And hopes that then were rich with joy are dead in 
hopeless graves. 



The summer breeze for me no more its incense soft 
can shed, 

The heart that made it sweet is broke and faith is 
lost and dead ; 

'Tis winter all year round, so drear, so desolate and 
chill— 

I bow to Fate, and live, because pain has no power 
to kill! 

Dec. 15, 1877. 



To . 

When sorrow comes to grieve thy heart, 

Remember joy cannot be far ; 
As clouds and skies are not apart. 

And past them all there beams a star. 
When shadows wrap the earth in gloom, 

The other half is bright and fair ; 
And human grief has flowers which bloom 

Within the forests of despair. 

April 16, 1878. 



Unsatisfied. 



Familiar to the trump of Fame, 
The world's applause around him rang; 



And lavish Fortune lent a name 

That nations praised and poets sang. 

His blazing jewels could not bring 
A moment's glance at peaceful rest ; 

His brain was but a burning thing, 
A smouldering fire consumes his breast. 

But Pomp, with all its empty toys, 
And Wealth, with all its gilded pride, 

Were inward griefs, though outward joy s- 
His heart remained unsatisfied. 

1878. 



On Reading Faces. 

" Papa, when lawyers have to choose, 
From men they do not know, 

Grood jurors, who will not abuse 
Their oaths, how do they do ? " 

So asked a little eight-year old,* 
As she half closed a book, 

And, flinging back her locks of gold, 
A poise expectant took. 



*Mimiette. 



253 



" What curious questions cMldren ask ! 

Said Papa witli a smile ; 
" To answer rightly is a task 

That sometimes takes a while." 

'Tis hard to read men hy their looks, 
The bad look like the good ; 

And yet they may be read like books, 
When they are understood — 

For still there is a sort of glance 

That lurks in every face. 
Which does not leave us all to chance, 

If we know how to guess. 

And though there is no settled rule 

To read men by their eyes. 
Each day we live is but a school 

To see through all disguise. 

And if a man be bad at heart 

And willing to do wrong, 
He rarely has sufficient art 

To fool us very long. 

So by and by the face is old. 
Each wrinkle, line and glance, 



Its faithful story well lias told — 
'Tis rarely there by chance : 

For many a little meanness, 

And many a sneaking theft, 
Upon his smirking features 

Its tell-tale line has left. 

Nay, more ! the silent work of time 
Goes on from day to day ; 

Each good thought leaves a trace sublime- 
Each bad, the other way. 

And though he try to look serene, 

His efforts will betray 
Some latent symptom that is mean, 

Which gives him clear away. 

Beneath the silent work of time 

The features wear away ; 
They grovel, or become sublime, 

By night, from day to day. 

Goodness will cause the face to be 
The type of deeds well meant. 

While evil hearts are never free 
From trace of bad intent. 



•255 



Therefore, my darling little child, 

Be watchful how you act ; 
For even if the thoughts are wild, 

The face will show the fact. 

Thus will the soul-life give its form 

And meaning to the eyes ; 
As trees will fall which way the storm 

Has swept across the skies. 

But 'tis hard to tell men by their looks 

With any certitude ; 
Of every twelve men in the box, 

There will be bad and good. 

Feb. 9, 1879. 



To MY Daughter Minnette. 

Ever be blameless — thus you'll be free — 

None but the wicked are slaves ; 
JSTone but the innocent ever can be 

Worthy to fill honored graves. 

Only the blameless are fit to be free, 

Only the faithful are wise ; 
We learn to command when we learn to obey ; 

Through duty alone can we rise. 

March 2, 1879. 



To Brother A. V. C. S.* 

It may be a little late in the day 
To wish you a Happy New Year ; 

But still I must waive at you, far away, 
With a heartfelt friendly cheer. 

'Tis vain to look back, or too far ahead. 
Our vision has narrow range ; 

So let us be friends till life is fled. 
Without any cooling change. 

There must come a time — 
God grant not soon — 

When one will miss the other ; 
But until it comes, let us prize the boon 

Of knowing and loving a beother. 

Jan. 7, 1880. 



To Darling Grace. 

Let me never fail to find 
Sweet sympathy in thee, 

And I will strive to be resigned 
To all fate has for me. 

1880. 



*Rev. A. V. 0. Schenck, Philadelphia. 



257 



Be Merry. 

Then let us laugh, and 
Then let us eat, drink, laugh ; 
Then let us fret no more for fame. 
Why should mortals fret for fame, 
Or turn from homely fun with shame. 
When laughter, merriment and song 
To living joy alone belong? 
The melancholy too must die; 
'Tis better then to laugh than cry. 

1880. 



Fret Not. 



Fret not — the world will someway wag along. 
Until the blunders will be made all right; 

The pigmy truth will kill the giant wrong, 
As David slew Goliah in the fight. 

Grieve not — those only mourn who fail to see 
The sweet, but needful, uses of ill fate ; 

And way beyond the breakers of the sea 

Sail ships of hope, all full of precious freight. 

1880. 



Home Pleasures. 

[To Mabel.] 

"We never know what home is worth, 
Until we go away ; 
We never know the need of light, 
Until the close of day. 

1880. 



"De Mortuis Nil," Etc. 

" The Times is dead," the carrier said, 
With a doleful voice and mien ; 

" But no one thought it ever ought 
Such cruel fate to have seen." 

" What do you intend, my doleful friend ? " 

The old subscriber said : 
" Do you mean to state there is any fate 

More cruel than being dead ? " 

Why yes, indeed ; after death had freed 

The Times from all its woe, 
Its awful remains, including brains, 

Were exposed to buzzard and crow. 



The buzzard flapped its wings, and snapped 

The flesh from off the bones ; 
And then the crow for the bones did go, 

And cawed in dismal tones. 

" And so I say," said the carrier grey, 
" It looks quite sad, my friend. 

To see the pair of vultures tear 
The corpse up at the end," 

Jan. 1, 1881. 



There's Nothing in this Vale of Tears. 

There's nothing in this vale of tears, as dearly as 

we love it. 
But takes its beauty from the spheres that roll on 

high above it ; 
If stars, which shine so fair and bright, should from 

the skies be driven. 
The fairest beauties of the night would be no 

longer given. 

Next take the moon, celestial queen. 

The Heavenly orbs transcending; 
And lover's walks and moonlight scene 

Must straightway find an ending. 



Obscure the sun, celestial King, 
Of light and color the dispenser ; 

And earth contains no living thing — 
Her ashes lie in shattered censer. 

Oh ! let the broken words, impelled 
By quivering lips and aching heart, 

Recall the rising passion quelled, 
Restore the pangs regrets impart. 



To A Learned Atheist. 

Bright indeed are the Hashes of genius, 

Yet bright like the flash of a gun, 

That shines far away in the darkness, 

But cannot be seen in the sun. 

The knowledge men have has been added 

By little and little to stores 

Of wisdom, as gems of the ocean 

Have washed into heaps on the shores. 

There is something sublime in the teachings 

That men gather up from the past. 

But the lessons they glean from the present 

Are lessons more useful at last. 



261 



What happened to Cyrus and Csesar 

Of old on the land or the sea, 

Have little to change of the ventures 

That happen to you or to me. 

The sun and the moon and the planets 

Eoll on in the depths of the sky, 

And there they will roll in the ages 

Long after all mortals shall die. 

The most we can know is so feeble, 

So full of misgiving and doubt, 

That the best we can do is to trust Him 

"Who brought all we know about, 

November 2, 1881. 

The above was wi'itten on reading the discussion between Col. 
Robert Ino^ersoll and Judge Jere. Black. 



To Sleep. 



O, sleep ! so sweet to mortal eyes. 
Enfold me with thy gentle wings. 
And let me feel the rest that brings 
Earth's throbbing heart to paradise. 



202 



OR THIS. 

Now fold me in tliine angel wings, 
O, sleep ! so sweet to mortal eyes, 
And let me feel the rest that brings 
The weary soul its paradise. 

November 19, 1881. 



Found in "Demosthenes," 

AFTER HIS DEATH. 

Stir not the latent pangs 

Sleeping within my heart ; 
Memory hath venomed fangs. 

Bid them not start. 
Discord alone it brings. 
Striking discordant strings — 
Passions deal sufferings. 

Then bid me not recall 
Scenes that are fading fast — 

Let them be banished all. 



Knowledge. 

Bring in thy sheaves, the day is done, 

Fate's mandate is condign ; 

What has been gleaned is thine, 
But what is left, by others must be won. 

Crave not the things that might have been, 

Fret not at chances lost ; 

Count up the gain, the cost, 
And sigh no more to work or strive or win. 

An end, an end for all must come. 

To win, to lose, are past ; 

The end must come at last — 
Who fights with fate fights only to succumb. 

Life is but one long, anxious day. 
Whose hours are sure to close ; 
With work still left for those 

Who choose the worthy or the useful way. 

Then give to me all things to know, 

Of good and evil too ; 

To our first parents true. 
This fruit I'll taste, from Eden though I go. 

1881. 



Man a Contradiction. 

When silence broods upon the night, 

Our thoughts, like soldiers roused, are loud ; 

And though alone we feel the light 
Of noon, and hear its busy crowd. 

There is no way to count on Fate, 
Or drive the shadows from our side ; 

We love the things we ought to hate. 
Exult when shame should banish pride. 

The infant's breath is soonest out. 
And Life to Death stands ever near ; 

For Faith itself is full of doubt. 
And Hope has everything to fear. 

We crave for poison, shun our food. 
And strive for that which brings but ill ; 

We spurn the things that do us good, 
And seek for cure in things that kill. 

The things we toil for clog when won, 
We count but poor the joys we gain; 

We grope beneath the noonday sun, 
And laugh at danger and at pain. 

Jan. 12, 1882. 



To MY Daughter Katie. 

May peace and joy tliy steps attend, 
Dear Katie, gentle, darling child ; 
And God our Heavenly Father, mild, 

Be ever near thee, as a friend. 

May all thy thoughts be free from sin, 
And all thy actions free from wrong ; 
And may thy life be sweet and long. 

And at its close may Heaven begin. 

Jan. 16, 1882. 



Speak Gently. 

What can the head do rightly 

When the heart is afire with pain ? 
And how can the mind think brightly 

When fever consumes the brain ? 
Where is the hand that is hearty 

When pressure but drives a thorn? 
And who can enjoy a party 

Where one of the guests is Scorn ? 

Pause then, and cease fault finding, 
For there lives not a faultless one ; 



And love is a chain best binding 

The hearts by forbearance won ; 
Tongues that are swift to censure 

The failings that all must share, 
Will drive away those who venture 

Their fretful abuse to bear. 

* ^ * * V: 

Be not swift to find fault with one you love, 
ISTor fretted at the failings of one that loves you ; 

For joy would be banished from heaven above, 
If former sorrows were kept in view. 

March 19, 1882, 



To THE Memory of John F. Darby.* 

Sweet be thy rest, indomitable sage : 

Let peace, well earned by toil, succeed old age. 

Long life was thine ; and honors hard to gain 

Lent joy to memory and pride to pain. - 

Time was when men asked favors at thy hand, 

And lavish Fortune heeded thy command ; 

When on thy head there towered the leader's crest. 

And ballots named thee better than the best. 



*Last piece of poetry ever written by Col. Slayback. 



267 



Time was when Fate seemed powerless to kill, 
And death stood hesitant before thy will. 
Time was when glory and fair fortune fled, 
And left thee battling for thy daily bread ; 
"With crippled hands and torture- twisted feet. 
The eye still blazed, the cheerful heart still beat, 
And unrepining to thy daily task. 
Without a murmur, or a boon to ask — 
Time was when thou didst go, with scarce a friend 
To heed thy struggles or thy words attend ; 
And yet thy life w^s greater at the last 
Than when around thee Fortune's gifts were cast ; 
For in adversity thy dauntless soul 
Rose like pure genius, bursting all control 
Except its own strong will, and left behind 
Proof that man has no master, save the mind. 

St. Louis, May 15, 1882. 



Stray Thoughts. 



But unless the pent-up waters flow 
Stagnation makes them more impure ; 

And griefs, which are unuttered, grow 
To suffering dire beyond a cure. 



Of all the loves that ever were loved, this love was 

strongest and best ; 
For it rose in the East with the rising sun, and went 

down with the sun in the West. 



Not all the gold in all the ships 
That ever sailed, on all the seas, 
Could tempt me to live o'er again 
The pangs of memory, keen with pain, 
Since first I learned the power of love. 
By losing first the power to please. 



As tlirougli tlie darkly clouded sky 
Some rift reveals but one pale star, 

So shines on me one faithful eye, 

Though darkness robes its beams afar. 



Should scandal cloud the name I love, 
As dust may dim the diamond's ray. 

Its value this shall not disprove. 
Or make me throw the gem away. 



The sharp, keen struggle to forget 
Hath cast oblivion over all the past, 
Save those same scenes I would erase — 
And efforts to expunge one face 
Have shed dim mist o'er all, save that. 



The choicest thoughts are often unexpressed, 
The kindest words unsaid. 



An awkward, unfortunate, blundering boy. 
Always proud of bad luck, unaccustomed to joy, 
He learned ere his time how to act like a man. 
To resist any wrong and be true to his clan ; 
To pocket no slight and deserve no rebuff. 
And to pity the rogue, when his foe cried "enough." 



How pulse for pulse, and throb for throb, 
Our hearts concordant beat together ; 

Till fate our friendship's treasures rob, 
And force me from thee, dearest other. 



He was a minstrel ; in his mood 

Was wisdom mixed with folly ; 
A tame companion for the good, 
But wild and tierce among the rude, 
And jovial with the jolly ! 



In man whom men condemn as ill 
I find so much of goodness still ; 

In man whom men pronounce divine 
I find so much of sin and blot : 

I hesitate to draw the line 
Between the two — since God has not. 



Ah ! who can tell how hard it is to climb 
The steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar ! 

Ah ! who can tell how many a soul sublime 
Hath felt the infiuence of malignant star. 
And waged with fortune an eternal war ! 



271 



Tear one mortal more from earth, 
Give one angel more its birth ; 
Dimmed and dull the sparkling eyes. 
Till they flash in Paradise, 



Tell me, best loved, and tell me true. 
If I am best beloved by you ? 
For doubts are kin to pangs of death, 
And doubting takes away my breath ; 
Then from my soul its anguish take, 
And soothe my heart, or bid it break. 



Last image on my heart ere sleep 
Its veil o'er memory throws, 

And first when wakened senses leap 
To greet the dewy rose. 



Not the lily fingered maid, 
Not the velvet bosomed lass. 

Nurtured in domestic shade, 
Lives in marble or in brass ; 

Nor the plant that dares the storm 

Can be sensitive in form. 



272 



The Missionary of the 19th Century. 

His out-of-door smile for the stranger abroad, 
His every-day frown for his home ; 

He has not a red for the poor in his road, 
But he pities the paupers — of Rome. 



Those we Remember. 

We'll not forget the smile of those 
Who never can forget our own ; 

Nor those who gaze upon our woes 
With callous look or angry frown. 



A Kiss. 



When other lips on thine shall burn, 
Their second-handed fun I'll covet, 

And wonder if they can discern 
The fire I left, and learn to love it. 



273 



Addresses. 



Address at the Decoration of 
Soldiers' Graves, 

ISTear St. Louis, May 30th, 1S73. 

Ladies aistd Gentlemen : When the feelings 
of the heart are touched, the utterances of the 
lips are imperfect. Bear with me then, my 
friends, to-day, if my words seem poorly chosen. 

The grandeur and solemnity of this scene coald 
borrow no impressiveness from displaj^s of de- 
clamation, and figures of speech would impair 
the dignity of your own reflections. 

This assemblage is only one of thousands like 
it throughout the United States, whose hands and 
thoughts are busy in decorating the resting- 
places of the gallant dead who perished in the 
late war. 



Bat our observance of the day is distinguished 
from the generality by a feature of rare and ex- 
quisite signification — a feature that is local now, 
but destined, as we hope, to become national here- 
after — a feature worthy of a place in history, as 
a sign of the times in which we live, and of the 
feelings which animate our community. It is this : 

The Union soldiers and officers of St. Louis 
having in charge the preparations for this cele- 
bration, passed a resolution, prompted by their 
own lofty and humane generosity, to the effect 
that surviving Confederate soldiers be invited to 
participate with them in the ceremonies of the 
day, and that the graves of the soldiers who died 
in the one cause should be decorated the same as 
of those who fell for the other. 

This beautiful and heroical action has met with 
a response as sincere and spontaneous as the in- 
vitation was characteristic. 

The Committee on Speakers have selected me, 
as one who served the Confederacy during the 
war, to deliver one of the addresses at Jefferson 
Barracks, and, apprehensive as I was of my in- 
ability to perform the exalted duty thus imposed. 



275 



I could not shrink from the responsibility. I 
come with you upon a pilgrimage of respect to 
the memory of brave men, who yielded up their 
lives to their honest convictions of duty. 

We cannot approach this spot without feelings 
of deepest awe. 

Jefferson Barracks is suggestive of important 
historical incidents of the war, and in this ceme- 
tery Union and Confederate soldiers slumber side 
by side, in the long, last sleep of death. 

And here, about these sacred resting-places, are 
gathered the reconciled survivors, and the faithful 
and beautiful beings who love the soldier when 
living, and honor him when dead — the victors 
and the vanquished paying a mutual homage at 
the tomb of courage, and the fair hands and 
gracef id forms of matron and maid dedicating the 
choicest offerings of spring at the shrine of valor. 

O, my countrymen ! what a spectacle is this ! 
What a scene for the painter ! What a theme for 
the poet ! What a study for the historian of the 
future ! 

In the annals of human warfare, where can 
you find the record of any behavior more cliival- 



rous and admirable than the conduct of the Union 
soldiers and officers of St. Louis in this affair ? 

It is true that from the most remote antiquity 
ceremonies similar to these have been celebrated 
by every cultured nation. 

Flowers have had a delicate, universal language 
of their own, so ancient that its origin is lost in 
the fables of mythology. 

But it has been reserved for the climax of 
Christian civilization, and the crowning illustra- 
tion of American magnanimitj^, to make the floral 
pageantry of this day and hour the occasion for 
turning the wrath of enmity into praises, and the 
bitterness of mourning into the sweet uses of for- 
giveness and reconciliation. 

The argument of superior force may sometimes 
be unanswerable. But to bring harmony out of 
discord requires a regard for the nobler and bet- 
ter feelings of our nature, and the exercise of the 
higher intellectual faculties. • 

When conciliation comes mingling with our 
reverence for the dead, it subdues the heart and 
propitiates the understanding. 

And what nobler tribute could be paid the dead 



277 



than this, that not those alone who had been 
friends, but those who had been adversaries too, 
should come to do honor to the hero in his grave ? 
Not that our words can reach the sleeper. Ah ! no, 

" His blade leaps not at the long, loud cry, 

Nor starts and streams with crimson dye ; 

He no more shouts ' Charge ! ' nor the brave line leads, 

For he sleeps in the grave of his glorious deeds." 

But here, at a moment sacred to his memory, 
those living can meditate upon the fleetingness 
of life, look into each other's faces for com- 
passion, and entreat that for all future time the 
dwellers in our fair and bounteous land may be 
brothers and friends, and countrymen, indeed. 

It matters not, now, upon which side these 
brave men contended. They were, and the war 
has decided that they should ever remain, our 
countrymen ! 

No bosom is so callous as to comprehend that 
word and look upon their grave without com- 
punction. 

At the graves of those we venerate, our 
thoughts peer deepest into immortality. The 
fact that these still live in our affections is the 



•118 



strongest proof we have that our own souls can 
never die. It is here we feel nearest to their 
actual presence. 

And if the disembodied spirits of men are per- 
mitted to revisit their abodes on earth, it is not 
stretching the imagination far to see the shadowy 
hosts hovering over us to-day as we are assembled 
upon the hallowed ground where their bodies re- 
pose, and realize that they are influencing our 
thoughts and feelings with angelic inspiration, 

O, gallant spirits ! reproach us not that we have 
anticipated a pleasure of your calm existence by 
having ceased to hate on earth. We feel that what 
we do is prompted by your own heroic wishes. 
We lift our hands to you and invoke your co- 
operation. If you are gifted to guide the thoughts 
and actions of your survivors, let the purity of 
our motives in this our tribute at your shrine 
make us welcome, when our time shall come, to 
dwell in your starry regions. 

Think not, my friends, that one of these has 
passed away in vain. In the economy of Grod, 
no death is premature where a human life is dedi- 
cated to an honest purpose. 



279 



But those of us who outlive them are respon- 
sible for the use we make of the lesson of their 
lives. In the olden time it was allotted to some 
to perish in the wilderness — to others to reclaim 
and beautify the promised land. It has been the 
fate of these to die. It is ours for a little, a lit- 
tle, while to live. 

We have not given the fatal proof of fidelity 
to the cause we thought the right. We cannot 
share the martyr wreaths they wear, but we can 
honor their memory by leading stainless lives. 
But it remains for us to make our devotion to the 
welfare of our country as faithful, since it is de- 
nied us to make it as glorious, as theirs. And 
God grant that when we come to take our places 
with them we may not slumber in dishonored 
graves. 

Posterity will look — a generation already half- 
grown since these brave men fell is already look- 
ing — to us for the moral and political import of 
the war which convulsed this continent, and in 
which we took part, some on one side and some 
on the other. 

Its results are not all known as yet. Far in the 



2tiU 



future they will exert a powerful influence upon 
the destinies of our country. 

But this we do know. That the modern 
prophets have been much at fault ahout the re- 
sults thus far. Of these results none can be 
counted more remarkable than the tranquility the 
country has already reached. This has sorely 
perplexed the sages. Such a strife and such a 
pacification were never witnessed in the world 
before. 

It is unprofitable to speculate about what 
might have been. It is wiser to recognize the 
irresistible logic of established events. 

The war has demonstrated that no matter what 
construction the American citizen may place up- 
on the Constitution, so jealously does he regard 
that instrument as the only safeguard of the lib- 
erties of his country, that rather than submit to 
what he considers an infringement upon its pro- 
visions, he is ready to die. 

The love of constitutional liberty is his grand 
ruling passion. 

It is apparent that outside of a few heartless 
agitators each party was sincere in the belief that 



the other party was iniraical to the j)rinciples of 
the Constitution. 

It was this devotion to Constitutional liberty, 
as the respective sections had been educated to 
regard it, that impelled each party to the dread- 
ful onset, and it was this same principle that 
made peace possible after the sanguinary en- 
counter was over. 

It may be that wise statesmanship could and 
should have averted the conflict. But it was hot 
done, and we can only deal with the facts as we 
find them. In the settlement of complicated dif- 
ficulties, it is sometimes necessary for States as 
for individuals to have a fight before they can 
come to a satisfactory and peaceful understanding. 

In just such a complication the sections of 
this country were involved in 1861, and it, per- 
hai3s, was incumbent upon the men of that day 
to fight. But now that the controversy is over, it 
is not incumbent on us to keep up enmity. Two 
l?:nights once disputed as to the color of a shield. 
One said it was blue; the other said it was green. 
The code was appealed to and both were mortally 
wounded. Then the by-standers discovered that 



both were, right, and both were wrong. The 
shield had been suspended between them. One 
side was painted blue ; the other, green. Each 
had stated correctly the side he had seen, and of 
course had misstated the side he had not seen. 

Missourians have just cause for State pride in 
seeing their sons step forward in initiating com- 
plete fellow-citizenship. There is no valid reason 
why it should be deferred. 

The Missouri troops, on both sides, were dis- 
tinguished for being the foremost soldiers in bat- 
tle, and they can afford to let those who did not 
gain any distinction in the field quarrel now. 

Missourians are done with that, and are going 
on now at something else. Life is too short. 
They have no time to waste. The present urges. 
The future beckons. They have something better 
to do than to cherish revenge. They cannot re- 
call the past. They cannot bring back the dead. 
They cannot be enemies, and, since they have de- 
termined to be countrymen, they have resolved to 
be friends. 

This day decides that resentment shall not mar 
the future of our beloved country. 



283 



In 1865, tlie enemies of our institutions abroad 
made sage predictions tliat the banner of the 
Southern Cross was only furled for a time ; but 
our own poet said that it was furled forever. 
And furled forever let it be ! 

Toward the close of the war there was a deeper 
dread in the mind of the Southern soldier than 
his customary encounter of superior numbers of 
armed men. It was not that he stood one of 
eight millions facing thirty millions that caused 
him to succumb ; it was not that he felt unwilling 
to starve and go ragged ; it was not that his faith 
was shaken in his generals ; and it was not the 
ships, the money, the iron or the splendid muni- 
tions of war arrayed against him that reconciled 
him to abandon the unequal contest in which he 
had so often and so freely hazarded his life. 

It was not that he had forgotten liis provoca- 
tions, or underrated them, and it was not that he 
was a traitor to his cause. 

Then why did he surrender ? you will ask. My 
friends, I will tell you why : and this day and 
hour presents the first fitting opportunity for a 
true Southern man to make such a disclosure 



without having his language or his motives mis- 
construed. 

I will tell you why the Southern soldiers grew 
weary of the contest and surrendered their arms. 
It was because, after all their privations and 
losses, and cruel grief over the bloody graves of 
their fallen comrades, they began to look to the 
future, and to say: " Well, what then ? " 

Made wiser by the stern education of war, their 
love of constitutional liberty made them tremble 
for tJie consequences of final success. They saw 
that the end of the war in that way would be but 
the beginning of others. 

They cast their eyes upon the government at 
Richmond, and its constitution recognizing the 
right of any State in certain contingencies to set 
up a separate nationality for itself, with its little 
President and its little Senate, its little Supreme 
Court and its little Navy, with its Palmetto, its 
Pelican, or its Lone Star for its flag, and the 
soldier began to ask himself, " For what am I 
fighting ? Will my children be better off when 
the wrongs I am redressing shall have been suc- 
ceeded by others of greater magnitude ? Will 



285 



my constitutional rights tliat will remain to me 
in either event be as safe under the new nation- 
ality as under the old? And what can posterity 
gain by exchanging for still another experiment 
the illustrious fabric that Washington, Hamilton, 
Jefferson and Adams, and the brave, wise and 
good men who shared their counsels and their 
dangers, established and bought with the blood 
of my ancestry of the revolution of 1776 ? " 

It was this appalling logic which fastened upon 
the minds of the Southern soldiers 

" Like a phantasm, or a hideous dream; " 
and then, and not until then, did their hearts 
begin to fail them. 

Hence it was that when they furled their flag 
they furled it forever. 

Hence it was that when they laid down their 
arms they did so with the full expectation, wish 
and understanding that the flag they had fought 
should become the emblem of their chosen na- 
tionality, and that from thenceforth and forever 
these States should be in fact, as in name, the 
United States of America. 

And hence it was that when the Southern 



soldiers gave up, they surrendered in just as 
dead earnest as they had fought. 

The generalship, the courage, the patience, fidel- 
ity and fortitude of the Southern army awakened 
the wonder and admiration of the world. They 
had performed prodigies of valor, and these 
prodigies the Federal soldier had overcome. 
The magnificent energy of the struggle was at an 
end, and the country had stood the test of a 
general civil war. The war was over. But there 
yet remained the problem. of pacification. Could 
such armies be disbanded without the destruction 
of social order ? 

Would those who had won let victory suflSce ? 
Would those who had lost resort to guerrilla war- 
fare? Would there have to be maintained a 
standing army in every city, a garrison in every 
village, to hunt down human tigers in every 
thicket, swamp and mountain ? 

Was there to be a gibbet in every churchyard, 
and bushwhackers in the tangled breaks of every 
river bank ? 

The question was of profound concern to 
everybody. It had to be decided, then and there. 



287 



A mistake would have been fatal ; delay, impos- 
sible. It was a critical moment. 

The spirit of American civilization is broad 
and generous. The very air we breathe is elec- 
tric with magnanimity. The strength to over- 
come brave men in battle is stimulated by a 
heroism that scorns to strike down an unarmed 
foe. But beyond any of these considerations, 
the American soldier was swayed by a sense of 
political duty, and in this trying crisis, once 
more devotion to the principles of consti- 
tutional LIBERTY lifted him above the passions 
and madness of the hour. 

The surrender had been unconditional. But 
history will record that the conditions exacted 
were as honorable to those who imposed as to 
those who accepted them. 

The treatment of General Lee by General Grant 
at Appomattox, and of General Joseph E. John- 
ston by General Sherman at Durham Station, 
shed a lustre upon those great leaders that will 
only brighten with the lapse of time. 

And on the other hand the conduct of General 
Lee and General Johnston from that time forward 
excelled all praise. 



But it was tlie whole-souled character of the 
soldiers themselves that carried into practice the 
illustrious examples of their commanders. 

Since the war the victors have conducted them- 
selves with moderation — the vanquished with 
manliness. 

On the one hand there has been clemency and 
forbearance akin to sympathy. On the other, 
acquiescence in the new order of things, and an 
honest endeavor to repair the damages of the 
war. 

The sword of the stronger, flushed with victory, 
has been sheathed in its scabbard. The hand of 
the weaker has not reached out for the sword of 
which it has been disarmed. The one has dis- 
dained advantage. The other has. detested re- 
venge. The one has been tenderly generous. 
The other has been proudly grateful. 

It would be hard to say why such men should 
not forgive each other. Animosity can only mar 
the happiness of both, and narrow indeed must 
be the soul which could desire to keep it up. 
When Rome's immortal orator was reproached 
for defending a former enemy, he exclaimed : 



" Neque me iiero poenitet mortales inimicitias sem- 
piternas amicitias habere^ And why should not 
we too boast that our enmities are mortal as the 
garlands that we bring, and our friendships as 
enduring as the grave that they adorn. 

Empires rise, flourish, crumble and decay. 
The marble of the new is exhumed from the ruins 
of the old. The destiny of nations is guided by 
a Power above and beyond the will of man. 
They are born, grow old and die as individ- 
uals by an inscrutable law ordained by the 
All-wise Lawgiver of the Universe. For some 
reason beyond our search, mankind have always 
been at war; and while the laws governing 
human nature remain the same, wars will go on 
until the millenium. The war-making capacity 
of a nation determines its rank among the na- 
tions of the world, and the militarj^ genius of its 
people is a test of its durability. The individual 
must be willing to perish that his nationality, 
through his devotedness, may live on. And no 
first-class power has ever yet existed so supreme 
that it could afford to alienate the affections or 
disregard the rights of any considerable number 
of its citizens. 



And, my friends, just as long as our country 
remains liable at any time to become involved in 
war, we owe it to ourselves and our children to 
preserve the good-will of the soldiers of the 
republic towards our beloved institutions, and 
stimulate their devotion to constitutional liberty. 
And who are now our soldiers ? Are they con- 
fined to a section? • Are they embraced in a 
creed ? Do they belong to a class ? JN'o ! The 
army that keeps the outside world in awe is com- 
posed of all citizens capable of bearing arms, of 
all sections, political parties and antecedents. 
The stalwart and valiant men who are now busy 
everywhere plying the forge, holding the plow, 
pushing the industries of every section, and re- 
gion and State — a self-sustaining host, governing 
themselves, and capable of defending that govern- 
ment against the combined world in arms — these 
constitute the true grand army of the republic. 
And God grant that civil strife may never again 
darken and desolate our homes ; that, whenever 
duty calls upon the citizens of the United States 
to repel invasion or vindicate the national honor, 
no grievances may lurk behind us, but may we 



all be found side by side in the lists of glory, 
battling for tlie sacred principle of constitutional 
liberty. 

Oh, priceless boon ! purchased at inestimable 
cost ! For this the men we commemorate to-day 
have died. They died that we might live in 
peace, contentment and good- will. Let us linrow 
their dust. Let us honor their courage. Let us 
venerate their motives. Let us cherish their 
memory ! 



Womanly Ambition. 

An Address before the Young Ladies' Literarj^ Society of Lin- 
denwood Female College, St. Charles, Mo., June 3, 1875. 

Love of glory is the universal passion of man- 
kind. It is the actuating principle in every grand 
achievement, and in a modified degree it promj)ts 
the lowly as it stirs the great. 

The desire of power and influence, the love of 
praise, the struggle for eminence, the emulation 
to out-do others, that honor and distinction among 
men may follow, may all be summed up in one 
word, ambition. 



The effect of this passion upon individual life 
and character is of infinite diversity, and varies 
with the innate disposition and external circum- 
stances of every human being. Action and mo- 
tive are often discordant. Persons intend one 
thing, and find they have done another ; desire 
one fate, and have to accept another. And yet 
for all this, the soul that is resolute performs so 
many exploits that savor of impossibility, that 
those who wish to do something grand in the 
world find more force in what they wish than what 
they know. The wishes of the heart put brain 
and hand to work. The intellect is dormant un- 
til the feelings call its contriving powers into ex- 
ercise. Thought succeeds to impulse. Action 
follows thought. Results follow action. Success 
smiles only on persistent toil and vigilance. 
Thus is the record made up of human achieve- 
ment, and thus the cherished ambition of any 
life goes far to shape its career and fix its destiny. 

When ambition springs from proper motives, 
it is laudable, and stimulates all the faculties to 
their loftiest energy. When it emanates from 
selfish greed for advantage over others, it is sa- 



293 



tanic. The one is true ; tlie other, false. The 
one has been said to raise mortals to the skies. 
The other to drag angels down. 

Ambition, in its charitable sense, is consistent 
with every womanly attribute. 

The wish to attain excellence, the desire to con 
fer blessings and to earn gratitude, the holy as- 
piration to be goodly great and greatly good, 
are the noblest incentives that can actuate a soul. 
These incentives have belonged to women, as to 
men, ever since the world began, and will so con- 
tinue as long as the world may last. Side by 
side in the lists of the truly great, the names of 
illustrious women vie with those of distinguished 
men, both in war and peace. In statesmanship, 
diplomacy, philosophy, literature, science and 
art — as ruler, as teacher, as poet — in all the loftier 
planes of intellectual attainment, women of gen- 
ius have left as enduring monuments of great- 
ness as the men. In our own day, the sculptor, 
the author, the orator, and the king, win no fairer 
renown than the sculptress, the authoress, the 
oratress, and the queen. It is, therefore, fair to 
assume that, in intellect, woman is the equal of 



man, and if there are distinctions between manly 
and womanly ambition, they consist rather in the 
quality than in the quantity of characteristic 
force. 

Men love power for the sake of dominion ; 
women for the sake of splendor. Men demand 
obedience ; women admiration. Men seize the 
sword ; women the scepter. Men conquer that 
they may rule ; women that they may reign. 
Man is ambitious to give battle ; w^oman to be 
supreme in the hearts of her people. Men like 
to be formidable abroad ; women to be beloved 
at home. Men fight for fame ; women shrink from 
reproach. Men glory in their strength ; women 
in their delicacy and refinement. Men study self- 
promotion ; women the promotion of those they 
love. Man's ambition is to subdue ; woman's to 
please. Man's ambition revels in the triumphs 
of the world ; but the ambition of a true woman 
is consecrated to God. 

Semiramis leading the Assyrian hosts ; Zenobia 
at the head of her army, making armed protest 
against the ruin of her beloved Palmyra by the 
mailed legions of Rome; Joan d'Arc inspiring 



295 



the drooping defenders of France against the vic- 
torious English ; and Marie Antoinette endurinyj 
the awful terrors of execution with sublime forti- 
tude, are historical instances among thousands 
that could be named, to prove that women are as 
exalted in their courage and their heroism as men. 

Every-day life points to the same conclusion. 
The statistics of the census show that where num- 
bers are about equal, women possess more moral 
courage and fortitude than men. Man pleads, as 
his excuse for intemperance and crime, that he is 
poor, that he is wretched, that he is tempted. 
But woman, equally ]30or, equally wretched, 
equally tempted, resists the temptation, and does 
not yield to intemperance and crime. 

The police reports show the cringing slaves of 
intemperance are mostly men. The criminal 
records show that nearly all the criminals are 
men. Intellectually man's equal, morally his 
superior, woman's ambition is purer, nobler, and 
more truly heroic. 

There are occasions when to be patient is to be 
great ; to be silent is to be heroic ; to be uncom- 
plaining partakes of the sublime. It is on such 



occasions that the average woman is superior to 
the average man, and that the truly great women 
furnish evidences of character so exalted that 
they seem to rise above the human, and to be 
angelic in their natures. There may be, there- 
fore, a womanly ambition to excel in those ad- 
mirable characteristics which are beyond the 
capabilities of man, and in which she is by 
nature his superior. On the other hand, there 
are many things right enough in themselves 
which a woman of refinement cannot engage in 
without compromising her sense of delicacy. A 
true woman has an innate modesty that holds in 
subjection every wish of her heart. Men may 
seek notoriety as the prelude to more enduring 
fame. A \70man cannot do this, and with sub- 
lime resignation many a woman, who knows 
within her soul that she is great, shrinks from 
celebrity and lives for those she loves. Nay, 
more — she is content to let them wear the bays 
that might have crowned her own brow. Many 
a man achieves fortune through the sound sense 
of his wife. Many a man has been illustrious 
on brain-capital furnished by a woman. But for 



Aspasia, Pericles would never have establislied 
that republic of letters which gave to Greece its 
golden age ; but for Isabella, Columbus would 
never have discovered America ; but for Ma- 
linchi, Cortez would never have conquered Mex- 
ico ; but for Miss Dent, Ulysses Grant would 
never have been President of the United States. 
Almost every illustrious man who ever lived 
became distinguished by following the advice 
of some sensible woman, and many of these 
same men fell from their highest estate by sin- 
ning against her better judgment and purer in- 
tellectuality. 

"Woe be to the man who dares to trample her 
under his feet ! 

Alexander the Great, Tarquin, Julius C?esar, 
Napoleon and Byron are examples of warning to 
mankind that the greatest cannot escape destruc- 
tion if they sin against woman's better promptings 
or reject her counsel. And our own beloved 
Washington points the moral of maintaining a 
proper deference for her true worth and intel- 
lectual 2:)ower ; and in nearly every household in 
the land the sweet, placid face of Martha Wash- 



ington smiles from the same wall along with the 
Father of his Country. She never dreamed of 
such renown as this, but did her duty, and gave 
her advice and managed her estate in good 
womanly fashion for the sake of a better reward 
than fame — the approval of her own conscience, 
the advancement of her husband's interests, and 
the hope of that eternal crown reserved for the 
chosen of God. 

Women are often ambitious to have influence 
in directions that render them unhappy. They 
wish to be lawyers and doctors, and preachers 
and newspaper reporters, etc. Some of them do 
very well, too. But in aspiring to eminence in 
such pursuits, a woman throws away her chances 
of best success, and gives up her greatest power. 
She is heiress to the crown in the social kingdom. 
Her highest supremacy can be reached in those 
fields of usefulness which tend to make homes 
happy. There is no such thing as a paradise on 
earth without a pure, good woman as its ruling 
spirit — its gentle law-giver, regulating its peace 
by the wonderful harmonies of love and |sym- 
pathy. 



299 



There are a great many little kingdoms called 
homes. Unless they are governed by the power 
of woman's rule, they are dreary places. With- 
out her taste, her care, her skill, palaces and cot- 
tages are but miserable under whatever govern- 
ment man can devise. 

It is woman's proud office to govern and sanctify 
home, and to make its influence sacred. 

The young and the aged look to her gentle hand 
for tenderness, and the strong and the weary look 
to her for rest. Instinctively she loves truth. 
Naturally she recoils from dishonor, and by tra- 
dition she preserves the fidelity, the honest pride 
and the priceless decencies of the family fireside. 

There is no field for womanly ambition so 
suited to her natural genius as excellence in do- 
mestic pursuits. 

" Honor and fame from no condition rise ; 
Act well your part — there all the honor lies." 

Ambition, to be wholesome in its effects, should 
be within bounds and conformable to the situa- 
tion and circumstances of the individual. It 
must be directed in channels of common sense 
and possibility. Not only mental, but physical, 



endowments must be taken into account. Persons 
capable of attaining distinction as poets might 
fail as mechanics. The accidents of birth, station, 
property, relationship to others, and the times in 
which one lives, must all be reconcilable with the 
object to be accomplished. 

In reading the story of any remarkable life, 
what little things seem to have occasioned the 
great ones ! Through what years of patient ob- 
scurity most of the famous were disciplined ! 

Ah ! who can tell how hard it is to climb 
The steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar.-^ 

Ah ! who can tell how many a soul sublime 
Hath felt tlie influence of malignant star, 

And waged with Fortune an eternal war ? 

Sometimes persons are great in one direction, 
and ambitious in another. Sound judgment 
should always be consulted, or ambition becomes 
ridiculous. It would be out of place for a 
woman to be a blacksmith or a stage driver. A 
woman's ambition should prompt her to en- 
deavor to excel in those things for which she 
is adapted. I have seen a little girl put on her 
mother's dress, and peep over her shoulder to see 



301 



how she looked wearing a train. Some grown- 
up persons are as absurd as this little child in 
fun. A woman has to consider not only what 
she can do, but what would be proper and be- 
coming for her to do. She should never lose her 
good taste. It is therefore most important for a 
woman who has ambition not to mistake her 
work. 

This brings us to consider, what is womanly 
work ? The question is sometimes right difficult 
to answer. It depends a good deal on circum- 
stances. It may become necessary, in the life of 
any woman, to earn an honest living in the world. 
Too little attention is paid by parents and edu- 
cators to this important contingency. 

It is too often taken for granted, that if a girl 
be fair, winsome, and intelligent, she need never 
trouble herself about it. And yet it is worthy 
her most serious consideration. It is the fashion 
for mothers to have a false, pernicious ambition 
for their daughters to have worthless hands and 
haughty hearts; bent upon making display in 
what is called the best society, and repel the 
thought that these girls ever had to depend upon 



themselves. It is a cruel wrong, this false ambi- 
tion of mothers. Cruel to themselves, and still 
more cruel to their daughters. True ambition 
and true kindness alike dictate that every girl, 
no matter what her station, should be carefully 
instructed in some useful industry for which there 
is a market demand, and by which an honest sup- 
port can be made. I hesitate to lift the veil of 
reality to bright young eyes before me. But 
scarcely a day passes in the office of any business 
man in our large cities that some young lady 
does not come with lamentations that she has 
been compelled by changes in the fortunes of 
those she depended upon to go forth in the world 
to struggle for subsistence. She is told to teach 
school. " Alas ! sir, I am not thorough enough in 
anything to teach. I cannot get a situation over 
graduates of the Normal School," She is told to 
sew. " Alas ! I have never been taught to sew ; 
I cannot even make my own dresses, I cannot 
compete with girls trained to sew, and they almost 
starve at it," She is told to learn millinery. 
" Alas ! to learn that requires time and money, 
and I have neither. Apprentices are not paid 



308 



even their board." She is told to copy manu- 
scripts. " Alas ! there is no bread in that. What 
little there is in that line is absorbed by expert 
penmen who work rather for employment than 
for pay." She is told to seek a situation as a 
nurse or house-girl. " Sir, I have been tenderlj^ 
raised. Raised as a lady, and the equal of any 
one. I cannot consent to be reduced to servitude." 

And the misguided ambition of the mother 
shines through eyes that are full of tears— tears 
of agony, tears that would never have flowed if 
the mother had done her duty and taught the 
girl to work. 

So this girl — educated, as the fashion goes ; ac- 
complished, as it is falsely called ; worthless, in 
fact, for the grand mission of self-preservation, 
comes to grief and must seek refuge in a distaste- 
ful marriage, or humiliating dependence upon 
those to whom she is a burden. 

True ambition would raise every girl so as to 
make an independent support for heiself, if 
necessity should demand it. 'Na.y, more, to direct 
her energies in some useful occupation that will 
enlist her mind as well as her hand, circumscribe 



lier leisure hours, albsorb lier time, limit her 
wishes, keep her out of mischief and aloof from 
temptation. 

It is a crying evil and a shame in this country 
that girls should not be better prepared for 
changes of fortune by being taught to work ; and 
not merely taught to work, but trained to work 
at something that will earn bread. 

This may be plain, perhaps unpleasant, talk, 
but there are few very secure fortunes in this 
country, and I have seen the daughter of a mil- 
lionaire reduced to poverty, deserted by her hus- 
band for no fault of hers, living upon the charity 
of her former slaves. 

When such transmutations are possible, what 
security is there for the daughters of aristocrats, 
worth from five to ten thousand dollars ? Every 
sign in nature, every voice within us, every wise 
teaching that come to us from without, admonish 
us that earth is but a colony, and that usefulness 
in some industry is the condition upon which a 
settler is received, and the idle are but burthens 
whose room would be better than their company. 

This is a topic that is spoken of oftener in a 



305 



wMsper in the family circle than in polite society. 
But a woman does not like to be under pecuniary 
obligations and her sensitive nature scorns debt. 
It is a great pity that our customs and con- 
ventionalities do not provide more ways for the 
remunerative employment of women who are am- 
bitious to earn an honest living ; for, be assured, 
this, too, is a womanly ambition. 

There is need and there is room for hard think- 
ing and practical invention on this subject of 
work that will pay, and work that women can do 
without being ashamed of ridicule, or at the risk 
of endangering the health. 

Besides, the errors prevalent about womanly 
work, our customs and conventionalities occasion 
other false ambitions. To be the belle of a ball ; 
to lead the fashion ; to put on style in dress ; to 
marry a count, or some other nobody, with a 
large foreign title ; to be considered beautiful ; 
to excite the envy of the other girls and cut them 
out in the admiration of their sweet-hearts; to 
display extravagant jewelry ; to go around col- 
lecting money in little ridiculous sums to get a 
reputation as alms-givers by making others con- 



300 



tribute to charities that they do not like to give 
to themselves ; to belong to the lobby of Congress, 
or the Legislature — all these are morbid, false, un- 
womanly ambitions, that lead to bitterness and 
sorrow. 

They are beneath the ambition of a true woman, 
and unworthy of a wise one, who chooses, like 
Mary, " the better part." 

What is worth living for ? What is worth dy- 
ing for ? These are the questions that underlie 
all human endeavor. Make up your mind in 
answer to these, and you will know what exist- 
ence is worth. 

A woman's life can be exalted and sublime in 
itself, without being made conspicuous in the 
world. It is not only her province to be truly 
great, but to be the inspiring cause of true great- 
ness in others. She is the natural teacher of the 
world. Hers are the moral forces ; it is hers to 
suggest grand ideas ; it is hers to rebuke exalted 
error ; it is hers to sanction or to condemn the 
elaborate evolutions of man's mental exertion. 
Her quiet judgment is more decisive than debate ; 
her persistent disapprobation is often more 



307 



dreadful tlian "battle. Napoleon could overthrow 
the veteran legions of armed Europe, but he could 
not endure the refined criticism of Madame de 
Stael. 

Skeptics may cavil and infidels croak, but as 
the mothers in the land find peace, comfort and 
refuge in the consolations of religion, its teach- 
ings and its blessings will sanctify the homes 
and hearts of the faithful. Armies cannot crush, 
argument cannot shake, the doctrines that she 
teaches to the children at her knee. Trial, per- 
secution, martyrdom look into her faithful face, 
and renew their trust in God. 

" Not she with traitorous lips the Master stung ; 
Not she betrayed him with unfaithful tongue. 
She, when apostles fled, could danger brave ; 
Last at the cross, and earliest at the grave." 

Her fidelity is truer than man's. Her pure af- 
fection only ends with life. 

There is nothing in all literature more charac- 
teristic of woman, or more touching, than Ruth's 
reply to Naomi : " Entreat me not to leave thee, 
or to return from following after thee, for whither 
thou goest I will go, and where thou lodgest I 



will lodge ; tliy people shall be my people, and 
tliy Grod my God. Where tliou diest I will die, 
and there will I be buried." 

A true woman does good for its own sake, and 
wishes as little said about it as possible. She 
would rather die in obscurity than to have fame 
throughout the world, coupled with fame's twin 
sister — calumny. It is within her province to 
study those things which bless and benefit 
others. 

Through patriotism for her people, Esther 
periled her life and her position ; and every-day 
life brings into observation the self-denying, 
self-sacrificing devotion of woman, struggling 
with heroic disregard to censure or applause, to 
promote the welfare of others. 

Scarcely a day passes in any life that the judg- 
ment of each individual is not called upon to 
decide in the conflict between inclination and 
duty. You are to choose and to decide — to decide 
and to persevere — to persevere and to conquer, 
or to surrender and die. If the wishes of the 
heart are kept right, the will to do or to suffer 
for the sake of right must triumph. What you 



309 



wish to do "becomes your ambition just as soon 
as you are in earnest. You can only be in 
earnest when you feel your secret thoughts and 
wishes are inspired by resignation to the will 
of Grod. Would you be truly great, cultivate 
thoughts and wishes that are ennobling. "Would 
you be truly good, look to the Divine source of 
all goodness. 

'' Whatsoever things are true ; whatsoever 
things are just; whatsoever things are pure; 
whatsoever things are lovely ; whatsoever things 
are of good report ; if there be any virtue, and 
if there be any praise, think on these things." 

To build up pleasant places along the paths of 
life ; to soothe the brow of pain ; to watch the 
bedside of the sick ; whisper words of sympathy 
to troubled hearts ; to inspire with hope and 
courage the weak and weary victims of despair ; 
to point with hands angelic to the mercy- seat of 
God, and, in the unobtrusive spirit of the Great 
Master, to win back the erring and the wayward 
to a sense of duty ; to purify the conscience and 
exalt the purposes of the young : these things 



310 



are great. Life cannot be dedicated to nobler 
aspirations, death cannot close upon sublimer 
career. And yet tliey are all consistent with 
womanly ambition. 



Leagued Lawyers. 



The Colorado State Bar Association Formed. Address l)y Col. 
Slayback, of St. Louis, at Denver, Sept. 11th, 1882. 

The members of the legal profession of Col- 
orado met for the purpose of forming a state bar 
association in the United States, with an attend- 
ance of about 150 of the leading lawyers of the 
state. 

Col. A. W. Slayback, of St. Louis, who had 
been invited to be present and deliver an address, 
was then introduced by the chair and spoke as 
follows : 

Me. Chairman and Gentlemen of the Colo- 
KADO Bae : I have lingered beyond the time con- 
templated for my return to my distant home, that 
I might not seem unmindful of the distinguished 
honor conferred by the invitation to address you 



311 



upon the occasion of your convention, for the 
purpose of forming a state bar association. 

The object for which you are assembled is one 
which naturally enlists the cordial co-operation 
of every one who holds in reverence the higher 
aims and purposes of your profession. Lawyers 
devote their lives to the advocacy of human 
rights, and to the proper administration of 
justice. 

They study books and study men. They in- 
vestigate science itself, and thrust the probe of 
disputation into the very vitals of philosophy in 
order that truth may live and error die. 

The discipline of their profession tends to en- 
larged and constantly enlarging charity. They 
know what it is for the best of friends to main- 
tain different opinions upon an agreed state of 
facts. They know what it is to see their deepest 
and most earnest convictions overruled by the 
solemn judgment of courts, whose honesty of 
purpose cannot be questioned, and again, where 
their own doubts prevail, they find, after careful 
argument, that the actual right is where they first 
surmised a wrong. The legislature frames a law ; 



the courts expound it ; but the lawyers must see 
that the law, so made and expounded, is prop- 
erly applicable to the facts of each particular 
case. Differences of opinion arise — honest dif- 
ferences. It is not true that lawyers see a thing 
as they are paid to see it. It is the mission of 
the true lawyer to settle controversies, not to 
foster them. Bat when controversies have arisen 
they should be determined according to the eter- 
nal principles of truth and justice, and in ascer- 
taining the correct application of those principles 
there should be the greatest latitude of free dis- 
cussion and the total banishment of all personal 
animosity. 

A proper respect for the law is best engendered 
among the people whenever they see all the 
officers of the courts conducting themselves with 
decorum and integrity. 

Instead of regarding the practice of law as a 
system of cunning tricks and devices, the true 
advocate beholds in it the majesty and benevo- 
lence of peace and order ; protection against ruf- 
fianly violence ; the shelter of the weak against 
the strong ; the checking of craftiness and fraud 



313 



upon the unwary or the helpless ; the assertion 
of that pure type of liberty which deprives no 
man of his property or his pleasure so long as he 
inflicts no damage upon society or the individuals 
who compose society; and the adjustment and 
distribution of property and privilege so that no 
man shall suffer in his feelings, or lose that 
which is his own without obtaining prompt and 
adequate redress. 

What moral and phj^sical courage is required 
to make a man, who is trained to please if he can, 
stand up for the rights of a client, or the cause 
he deems proper, while the public sentiment is all 
against him ! It is some strength to the champion 
of justice at such an hour to feel that he has the 
respect, the confidence and the sympathy of his 
manly professional brethren. 

Bar associations are designed to cultivate fra- 
ternal feelings among honorable members, the 
men who are imbued with the philosoph}^ and 
alive to the dignity of the legal profession, and to 
elevate the standard of ethics. 

Lawyers are often hated unjustlj^ for espousing 
a cause which has but few friends, but it becomes 



tlieir duty to see that the law is administered 
without fear, favor or affection, regardless of 
popular clamor, and independent of personal feel- 
ings. 

The bar association is a strength and refuge to 
the honorable man and it is a dread to the evil- 
doer. 

N"o saint ever wore a robe that some demon 
would not steal to serve the devil in, and of course 
a bad man will now and then gain admittance to 
the bar. But take them numerically as compared 
with other callings and professions and the average 
standard of honor and integrity is as high, if not 
higher, in the legal profession than in any other. 
I will make no exception. And the jokes and 
gibes at lawyers' expense, and the caricatures 
made of them by witless dramatists to please ig- 
norant and vicious auditories, while generally 
treated as beneath all notice by lawyers, are nev- 
ertheless aimed at a very limited portion of the 
profession whose members it is the mission of the 
bar association to weed out. 

Those of you who have belonged to such organ- 
izations in older states have witnessed their ben- 



eficial influence, not only upon the bar, but upon 
the whole entire community. 

The bar association is an adjunct of advanced 
civilization, educating the conscience of the pro- 
fession and drawing a line between the regulars 
and the guerrillas in the great army of law and 
order. 

In a country where government itself simply 
means the supremacy of law, rather than the will 
or the opinion of any individual, whatever has a 
tendency to elevate, enlighten and advance the 
character of the legal profession, exalts the 
standard of civilization and benefits the entire 
community. 

In a progressive age, and a prosperous and pro- 
gressive country erroneous judgment can no 
longer mark injustice with the exploded sanction 
of authority. It is the axiom of modern learning 
that law is discovered, not made, and decisions 
have weight, not according to their antiquity, but 
in proportion as they conform to correct reason- 
ing and sound sense. 

Jurisprudence constitutes so important a part 
in human affairs that whatever men find worth 



struggling for, must rank in secondary and 
subordinate position to tlie paramount consider- 
ation of establishing corrrect principles for the 
assertion and maintenance of human rights, and 
the redress and punishment for human wrongs. 
For the security of life, property and peace of 
mind the people must often look to their lawyers. 

Confidence must be reposed; property must 
be entrusted ; responsibilities must be lodged in 
the lawyer. If he proves unfaithful or treacher- 
ous, scarcely any punishment is considered too 
severe for him ; but there is one punishment he is 
always sure to get, and that, too, not easy to be 
borne, and that is the united scorn and contempt 
of all the honorable members of the profession. 
And there is no possible solace in any transient 
advantage that can compensate an apostate 
practitioner for bringing that sort of disgrace 
upon himself which will not fade or wash out. 

Whatever lends dignity to the court and its 
oflBcers carries dread to the breast of the wrong- 
doer. Whatever lessens the estimate in which law- 
yers are held impedes the administration of jus- 
tice ; and the estimate lawyers entertain for each 



317 



other is apt to extend to tlie commiinity outside. 
They are presumed, like brothers, to know each 
other, and I venture to assert that no man can 
rise to distinction and success at the American 
bar, in any of the states, unless he passes through 
that straight and narrow gateway— the recognition 
and indorsement of his brother lawyers. It may 
come slowly, reluctantly ; but it must and will 
come, if by his conduct, bearing, learning and in- 
dustry the practitioner secures the good will and 
the applause of his professional brethren. 

Hence the importance of cultivating those 
amenities, courtesies and decencies of debate 
which, amid the conflicts of interests and the col- 
lision of intellects, do not detract from the force 
of an argument or the scope of true reason, and 
yet impart sweetness and serenity to the labors 
and disappointments, the heart-aches and the 
anxieties of a lawyer's life. 

The rivalries and contentions of lawyers often 
give them the appearance of gladiators pitted 
against each other for the mere purpose of aflford- 
ing savage satisfaction to their spectators by rea- 
son of the punishment and pain they inflict upon 



each other. To the zealous advocate, alive to his 
client's interest and cause, this is a tempting trap. 
But it is a fatal trap for the peace and prosperity 
of the profession. There should be some influ- 
ence hanging, ever overhanging us, to remind us 
that our opponent in the argument is personally 
a brother and a friend, whose sympathies and 
sufferings, labors and fellowship should not be 
sacrificed on the foul altar of false advantage. 

The bar association tends to refine the social 
pleasures and to soothe the angry impulses, and 
affords a sort of locus penitentice for good fel- 
lows to make friends again after they have been 
temporarily angry with and enstranged from each 
other. Its influence is at once elevating and com- 
forting, and those who stand aloof from such 
organizations are not full and well-rounded men, 
but are somewhere deficient. 

Although Missouri has been a state for about 
fifty -two years, our bar association is only going 
on two years old. The St. Louis bar association 
was organized several years before that of the 
state, and was found to work so well that the 
lawyers throughout the state were encouraged to 



319 



establish a co-operative and more general organ- 
ization. The effect and influence of the St. Louis 
bar association upon the legislature of the state 
have been marked and gratifying. 

The statutes relating to civil practice and to a 
large number of important topics have been im- 
proved and corrected by bills drawn by our com- 
mittee, discussed, matured and recommended by 
the association, and whenever the legislature for 
want of time or for want of intelligence neglected 
to heed the suggestions of the association, we al- 
ways had the satisfaction to believe the legisla- 
ture was wrong. 

The promoting of social relations and good 
feeling among the members has also marked the 
history of our association, and I cordially con- 
gratulate the members of the profession in your 
magnificent young state, where everything seems 
new except your civilization, upon securing for 
yourself tlie advantages of such an association. 

You have done that within six years which it 
took other states fifty to accomplish. Colorado 
owes much of its rapid development to the sage 
counsel, the brilliant abilities and the progressive 



spirit of her bar. Colossal fortunes liave grown 
up under their advice. Many of them were dis- 
tinguished in other states before they drifted here 
for health, or business, and among the number, 
if you will excuse a personal allusion which is not 
invidious, there is one nomo prohus et irdeger — 
who, standing at the head of a noted bar in Mis- 
souri, with the generosity of a j)rince and the 
wisdom of a sage, directed the law studies and 
gave a helping hand to many a young man strug- 
gling for admission to the bar, and, among them, 
to one who comes to-day from a distant home, 
that he may return to him and thank him. 



The Study of Nature and The Study 
OF Art. 

Two Addresses Delivered at the Annual Commencement of the 

Missouri School of Mines and Metallurgy, at Rolla, Mo., June 

12th, 1879, and June 9th, 1881, respectively. 

THE STUDY OF NATURE. 

All thought is precious ; all study is valuable ; 
all learning is useful; all knowledge leads to 
further knowledge ; all science exalts and enno- 
bles the understanding; but the grand total of 



all thought, study, learning, knowledge and sci- 
ence is reached when the human mind becomes 
enabled to cast one rational, intelligent glance 
upon the Universe as a whole. 

There shine the flaming suns ; there roll the 
countless planets; there space invites to space 
still more profound ; there comets in eccentric 
orbits range ; there light, heat, force and motion 
play with the mighty spheres as toys ; and 
through and throughout all this magnificent 
array of wonders we discern that law prevails — 
order, harmony, system, plan, design. Educated 
reason recognizes these evidences of contrivance, 
and knows that somewhere there is a Lawgiver, 
a Contriver, a Ruler, as supreme and infinite 
as the displays of His works are sublime and 
beautiful. 

Speculations upon the origin of matter, the 
duration of it, the destiny and final disposition 
awaiting it, are interesting, and furnish the occa- 
sion for noting and preserving observations of 
particular facts. 

But the power to reason from special facts to 
general laws must often stop there. The re- 



■i-i-i 



application of those general laws to other facts 
not submitted to our observations must involve 
us at once in conjecture and uncertainty — mere 
guess work at best. But there are things we can 
know which concern us much more vitally, and 
these it is given us to know with certainty, and 
to establish by actual demonstration beyond con- 
tradiction or question. 

Humboldt has remarked: "The aspect of ex- 
ternal nature, as it presents itself in its gener- 
ality to thoughtful contemplation, is that of 
unity in diversity, and of connection, resem- 
blance and order, among created things most 
dissimilar in their form : one fair, harmonious 
whole. 

" To seize this unity and this harmony amid 
such an immense assemblage of objects and 
forces ; to embrace alike the discoveries of the 
earliest ages and those of our own time, and to 
analyze the details of phenomena without sink- 
ing under their mass, are efforts of human reason 
in the path wherein it is given to man to press 
towards the full comprehension of nature, to 
unveil a portion of her secrets, and by the force 



323 



of thought to subject to Ms intellectual dominion 
tlie rough materials which he collects by ob- 
servation." 

Nearly all of the errors which have at different 
eras become prevalent among mankind have 
been occasioned by a partial or imperfect obser- 
vation of facts. 

It amazes us now that whole armies of brave 
men should have fallen into consternation be- 
cause of an eclipse of the sun, or the appearance 
of a comet, or the flash of a meteor. 

Ignorance of the laws of nature has caused 
men to impute every operation of natural force 
to the malign influence of some pagan deity, and 
it was only in comparatively modern times that 
prolonged attention to facts, about which there 
could arise no dispute, led to the disclosure and 
demonstration of those mighty truths which 
exist under the surface of things, and which 
escape superficial observation. 

The slowness of men in arriving at these great 
truths has also been retarded by superstition, 
prejudice, bigotry and persecution — fetters to 
progress, which, happily for our race, are grad- 



ually relaxing their hold upon the repulblic of 
thinkers. 

The influence of education for good or evil is 
shown in nothing stronger than in this. 

It was oftentimes more difl3.cult to make the 
truth believed than to find it. Men would insist 
upon thinking as they had been taught to think. 

It is recorded that when Alexander captured 
Babylon, Aristotle, who was his tutor, received 
from Calisthenes, a Chaldean astronomer, a cata- 
logue of eclipses observed at the temple of Belus 
during a previous period of 1903 years. The 
ancient Egyptians were also versed in astro- 
nomical study at a remote antiquity. The valu- 
able writings and observations of Hipparchus, 
who lived about two centuries before Christ, 
nearly all perished with the destruction of the 
Alexandrian library ; but Ptolemy, having res- 
cued one book, made it the foundation of studies 
during the reigns of the Emperors Adrian and 
Antoninus, which resulted in the enunciation by 
him of the system known as the Ptolemaic. 

According to it, the earth was spherical, but 
supposed to be the immovable centre of the 



326 



Universe. The sun, moon, planets and fixed stars 
were supposed to revolve around it, in perfect 
circles, and with uniform velocities, in accord- 
ance with the appearance of the Universe at first 
glance to the physical eye. This was substan- 
tially the opinion of that master mind of all the 
Greeks, Aristotle, who was the greatest original 
thinker the world has ever produced. 

This doctrine remained unshaken until less 
than four hundred years ago. Mcolaus Coper- 
nicus was born in 1473. He received a classical 
and scientific education at the University of 
Cracow, and finished his studies in Italy. He 
taught mathematics at Rome, and returned to 
Prussia to become Canon of Frauenburg. He 
was a teacher, a physician and a priest. He sur- 
passed the mathematicians of his time in the 
diligence of his studies, before he turned his 
principal attention to astronomy. At the close 
of his seventy years of laborious life his works 
were published, and the notions of Aristotle and 
Hipparchus and Ptolemy were exploded. 

The Copernican system, as it is called, may be 
briefly described as follows : 



That tlie sun and stars are stationary ; the 
moon only revolves about the earth ; the earth is 
a planet whose orbit is between Venus and 
Mars; the planets revolve about the sun, and 
the apparent revolution of the heavens is caused 
by the rotation of the earth on its axis. 

It is a remarkable fact, that the first copy of 
his works was placed in his hands the very day 
of his death. 

But astronomer like, he bad gazed on nature 
with a lover's eye — pondered over the records of 
previous observers — left his own record for those 
who were to come after him, and at his allotted 
threescore years and ten succumbed to fate, be- 
queathing to his followers the glorious fruits of 
his life-long studies. He died in 1543. 

About the year 1608, two rival spectacle 
makers of Middleburg, Hans Lippersheim and 
Jacob Adrianz, claimed each the invention of the 
instrument called the telescope. 

A year later, G-alileo constructed an improve- 
ment upon these pioneer implements, and saw 
with it the satellites of Jupiter, the rings of 
Saturn and the phases of Yenus. 



other inventors rapidly offered improvements 
upon the telescope ; but it was found almost im- 
possible to gain magnifying power, in viewing 
distant objects, without fringing them with 
strong prismatic colors produced by the refrac- 
tion of the rays of light in the lenses of the in- 
strument. 

At length the problem was solved by the de- 
vice known as the reflecting telescope. 

James G-regory, of Aberdeen, invented the first 
reflecting t^escope about the year 1666. He died 
before completing it. Sir Isaac Newton took up 
the idea, and completed the first reflecting tele- 
scope which Was ever used in studying the 
heavens. It magnified forty times, and brought 
into view the satellites of Jupiter and the phases 
of Venus. It was about six inches in length, 
and would be considered a very poor instrument 
now. But it led the way to investigations and 
discoveries, whereby he demonstrated his theory 
of universal gravitation, explained the tides, 
gave new ideas as to the shape of the earth, and 
in the following century mathematicians com- 
pleted the lunar theory which Newton began. 



In 1718, Hadley constructed a telescope with 
230 magnifying power. In 1785, Sir Sohn Her- 
schel completed his celebrated reflector. In 1824, 
Joseph Fraunhofer finished the famous telescope 
for the observatory at Dorpat. And it was not 
until 1860 that Steinheil found and overcame 
the practical difiiculty in the construction of 
telescopes. 

As far back as 1729, however, an Englishman 
named Hall, guided by a study of the mechanism 
of the eye, was led to a plan of combining lenses 
so as to produce an image free from colors. The 
secret of their construction died with him. In 
1741, Euler regained the lost art by referring to 
the construction of the human eye ; and it is a 
remarkable fact that almost every successful 
mechanical contrivance is modeled after some 
natural mechanism: the shape of the duck for 
boats ; the shape of the bird's wing for kites ; 
the shape of the ear for instruments of sound ; 
and so on. 

With the improvements in telescopes came a 
new insight into the works of nature. " The 
earth moves ! " exclaimed Galileo. Superstition 



329 



turned upon him like a savage beast. " Take it 
back," said tlie powers that were. " Certainly," 
said he ; but to the initiated he whispered, " Still 
she moves ! " 

Sir Isaac ITewton half a century later, and 
Leibnitz about the same time, taught men how 
to prove beyond all cavil, not only that it moves, 
but that it whirls through free space with incon- 
ceivable velocity — calculable in figures, but be- 
yond the wildest imagination. 

It was now that men could study nature. It 
was now they had something to study it with. 
Men of science — and that too, men of vast mathe- 
matical acquirements, supplemented by the high- 
est mechanical skill — proved to be the great 
students of nature. 

Sir Isaac Newton, the discoverer of the bino- 
mial theorem, was first to complete a telescope 
that read the stars aright. 

Herschel, the organist of Bath, became musician 
of the spheres. Such men were scholars first ; 
then mechanics ; then interpreters of nature to 
weaker souls. 

The milky-way stood revealed to all mankind 



:;:!() 



as a congregation of stars, invisible to tlie naked 
eye, but palpable forever afterwards to the hum- 
blest lover of nature. 

It seems strange that men were so long occupied 
in ascertaining facts which are now so familiar to 
oar school-children. 

It was only in the year 1610, that Galileo dis- 
covered the satellites of Jupiter. About seventy 
years earlier, Copernicus had asserted that Venus 
revolved around our sun. But the followers of 
Aristotle said that could not be true ; for if such 
were the case, there would be phases like those 
of the moon. He replied that he had no doubt it 
would some day be found so. The telescope, 
which he had been too early to enjoy, verified his 
prediction. The phases of Venus settled forever 
the ancient doctrine that the earth was the centre 
of the universe. The satellites of Jupiter and of 
other planets subverted the doctrine that the 
earth was the only planet having a moon revolv- 
ing about it. 

Bacon, in the second aphorism of his I^ovum 
Organum, has said : " Neither the naked hand, 
nor the understanding left to itself, can effect 



331 



mucli. It is by instruments and helps that the 
work is done, which are as much wanted for the 
understanding as for the hand.'' 

Aided by the telescope, science found the sun 
to be the focus of a planetary system : that Mer- 
cury was nearest to it ; then Yenus ; then the 
Earth ; then Mars ; then Jupiter ; then Saturn ; 
then Uranus ; then Neptune ; then others — and 
that these planets moved in elliptic orbits with 
velocity varying according to certain laws, and 
not in circles, or with uniform velocity as Ptolemy 
had supposed. 

By the aid of the telescope it was demonstrated 
that the earth was not a sphere, but a spheroid 
flattened at the poles. That our sun is only one 
of a hundred millions of suns that are visible, 
without counting those too remote to be seen. 
That our solar system is only one of a hundred 
millions of solar systems, so distant from us that 
the nearest of these suns, or fixed stars, as they 
are called, requires ages for its light to reach us, 
although light travels at the rate of about 193,000 
miles per second. That all these numberless suns, 
with their attendant worlds, are sweeping through 



space with sucli inconceivable velocity as to baffle 
and bevrilder the imagination ; and that their 
movements are regulated vrith such exact pre- 
cision, that the close student of nature can foretell 
with unerring certainty, for centuries beforehand, 
to the fraction of a second, the moment of time 
at which a shadow will fall, or a heavenly body 
appear, at a given point in its wonderful path of 
fire. 

The ancients supposed the milky- way to be an 
old disused path of the sun. When Herschel 
turned his more than magical instrument upon 
the silvery belt, he counted between five and six 
hundred stars without moving his telescope. 

" In a space of the zone, not more than ten de- 
grees long by two and a half degrees wide, he 
computed no fewer than 258,000." 

Into the same magnificent region Schroeter, of 
Lilienthal, directed his telescope, and exclaimed 
involuntarily : 

" What Omnipotence ! " 

The difficulty of computing the distance to even 
the nearest of the fixed stars, as they are called, 
was very great. The longest diameter of the 



333 



earth's orbit afforded no parallax. No angle of 
the value of a second could be found with cer- 
tainty in the ca^e of any star. It was not until 
within the lifetime of some who hear me now 
that Professor Bessel, of Koenigsberg, by the aid 
of an extraordinary refracting telescope with a 
micrometer capable of dividing an inch into 80,- 
000 equal parts, and two parallel spider webs 
adjusted across the centre of the field of view, at 
last devised a mechanism of such mathematical 
minuteness that an annual parallax of the star 
61 Cygni was detected of a little more than one- 
third of a second of space. With the side and 
two angles of this long little triangle, the calcula- 
tion coi^ld at last be relied upon to find the re- 
maining angle and the other two sides, and the 
distance of the star ascertained at six hundred 
thousand radii of the earth's orbit, or, in round 
numbers, about sixty billions of miles. 

Wearied out with trying to grasp such dis- 
tances, and such numbers of objects, the mind 
longs for home. We return to the earth and its 
phenomena ; its atmosphere ; storms ; tides ; vol- 
canoes ; rocks ; rivers ; mountain and valleys ; its 



liquid mass of internal fire ; its cool, tliin, hard 
crust ; its changing seasons, snows and rains ; 
clouds and shadows ; its minerals and vegetables, 
and inhabitants. 

Here the study of nature is no less exciting, 
even when we come down to every-day matters — 
to every leaf, bird, fish, and insect. 

Again we are astonished that it should have 
taken the wisest philosophers of our race so long 
a time to find out things that every school-boy 
now knows, and can explain so well. 

Just think what numberless multitudes of our 
ancestors died under the consummate skill of 
eminent surgeons and physicians, before Harvey 
— so late as A. D. 1619 — discovered the circu 
lation of the blood. We of to-day can scarcely 
understand how such a thing should so long have 
remained unknown. 

It was only about the year A. D. 1295, that 
Marco Polo carried the mariner's compass into 
Italy. He got it from the Chinese. Where they 
got it, nobody knows, but it took civilized nations 
two hundred years more to get across the ocean 
with it — in search of gold. 



335 



How Jason and Ms Argosy got along it is liard 
to say. It may be they had some way to reckon 
their bearings, which became lost — just as men 
used to lift ponderous stones, make malleable 
glass, and manufacture steel swords of metal 
finer than those made now. 

The sailor of to-day only needs his quadrant, 
his compass and a little patch of sky, to know 
just where he is. 

What the telescope did for the students of 
celestial phenomena, the microscope did for those 
who studied the minute forms of terrestrial ob- 
jects, which were too small to be observed by the 
naked eye. Innumerable armies of insects were 
found marching to battle against each other upon 
the rind of a single orange. A drop of water be- 
came a sea full -of living creatures, with room to 
spare. Chemical and botanical science assumed 
new energy. The mysteries and mistakes of im- 
perfect observation gradually yielded to the new 
revelations, and the infinite grandeur of the 
celestial bodies, rolling on in solemn wonder 
through unfathomable space, kept voiceless guard 
over the perfections of detail observable in the 
scarcely visible infinitesimals. 



The same August Power that set inexorable 
fetters upon the ponderous motors of the upper 
realms, was revealed in the operation of those 
uniform laws of comparative anatomy, physical 
geography, botany, chemistry, geology, metal- 
lurgy, electricity, and all the elements of modern 
natural philosophy — branches of material science 
which are still in their infancy, and awaiting and 
inviting the investigations of " the coming man." 

As yet the wonders that have been accom- 
plished are as nothing to those which are to come. 
As science advances, mystery retreats. The world 
moves. Humanity grows wiser and better as it 
becomes better informed, and barbarism and ig- 
norance can never again dominate this earth. 

The study of nature develops the love of law 
and order and utility, and these things refine and 
dignify the human race, exalt and ennoble the 
human understanding. Sooner or later the heathen 
must go to school. His necessities will drive him 
there, if not his inclinations ; and once having 
rode on a railroad, or talked through a telephone, 
he will find himself unable to dispense with them. 

But aside from mere utility, the study of terres- 



337 



trial nature affords an instinctive pleasure to the 
heart. The poets have been called the children 
of nature, because thej have caught inspiration 
from sighing winds, lovely landscapes, magnifi- 
cent mountains, delicate flowers, and spreading 
trees. Not so much as philosophers, but as art- 
ists they have painted the plumage of birds, the 
waving of grain, the grandeur of ocean, and the 
insignificance of man. 
Byron sings : 

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, 

There is a rapture on the lonely shore, 

There is society where none intrudes, 

By the deep sea, and music in its roar : 

I love not man the less, but Nature more. 

From these our interviews, in which I steal 

From all I may be, or have been before. 

To mingle with the Universe, and feel 

What I can ne'er express, 3'et cannot all conceal. 

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean — roll. 

Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; 

Man marks the earth with ruin — his control 

Stops with the shore — upon the watery plain 

The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain 

A shadow of man's ravage, save his own 

When for a moment, like a drop of rain, 

He sinks into thy depths, with bubbling groan. 

Without a grave, unknelled, uncoflined, and unknown. 



mS 



The aspects of nature are indeed a solace to tlie 
eye and a comfort to the heart. 

Weary toilers in the field look about them un- 
conscious of fatigue, as they revel in the beauty 
of the scene. The house-imprisoned toilers of 
the town, long for fresh air, and a ramble over 
rock, river and glen. The student of science 
comes back to his work with fresh hope and vigor, 
after looking upon the face of nature. The stu- 
dent of art gains all his inspiration there, and as 
he is true to nature, he becomes gifted in his pro- 
fession. Creeds, races, nationalities and pursuits 
may make men differ ; but they must all be born, 
and live and die in nature's lap alike. 

" One touch of nature makes the whole world kin." 

Who then shall slight this study ? 

Does it not exalt the mind, comfort the body, 
and improve the moral and intellectual condition 
of all ? Who is so wise that he does not shudder 
at his own ignorance, when he begins to realize 
the countless lessons of nature he has yet to learn ! 

Life is so short ; time is so given to actual busi- 
ness ; there are so many impediments to claim at- 
tention, that most men will not even take time to 



339 



reflect upon the nature of things, or they are too 
sluggish to make themselves comfortahle the lit- 
tle time they do have on earth. Entertaining an 
undue and exaggerated opinion of himself, and 
his race, and his little third-rate planet, man 
struts on into his grave, the most inflated, arro- 
gant, pretentious, contradictory insect that crea- 
tion has fitted for microscopic study. 

Dependent upon a thousand accidents and es- 
capes, for even one hour of existence, he proudly 
assumes the sceptre of immortality. Slave as he 
is to appetite, sleep, thirst, delusion, disease and 
death — bondman to each one of a multitude of 
fierce and debasing passions, he calls himself a 
sovereign, and assumes to be the arbiter of his own 
destiny, and able to carve out his own career. 

Conscious in his inmost soul of his infirmities, 
and helplessness, he exults over the weakness of 
his fellow man ; and, forgetting his own frailtj'", 
he condemns others for the same faults which he 
excuses in himself. He cannot exist without 
food, air, water, and rest. Too cold — he dies; too 
hot — he perishes; too old — he forgets every thing. 
How diverting it is, then, to see such a dwarf atom 



340 



in the scale of actualities set up his judgment 
against the wisdom of the Infinite Creator ! He 
cannot make his own heart beat. He cannot 
manufacture a grain of wheat or a living leaf. 
He cannot, by any skill of his, breathe life into 
matter ! 

Professor Tyndall, by a serious of brilliant ex- 
periments, has demonstrated that the vital princi- 
ple is not spontaneous even in the smallest and 
humblest orders of organic matter. In the anal- 
ysis of atoms, as in the survey of grandeur in the 
heavens, and sublimity in the ocean, the creative 
touch remains alone in the finger of God. 

Whether man may plume himself in his egotism 
as a creature of high rank in the scale of in- 
tellectual beings, we know not ; for we only know 
the inhabitants of this planet, and the probabili- 
ties are strongly in favor of other inhabited 
worlds. 

The plain truth is, we know so little at last that 
it would be far better to turn our attention to such 
things as we are permitted to know, and master 
them, without straining our puny intellects in 
hopeless aspirations after the unknowable in 



341 



nature. There are tMngs we can know. There 
are things we can do. There are fields we can 
explore. There are duties to humanity we can 
perform. There are manifestations of the Divine 
will we can understand. There are truths we can 
comprehend. With what humility great souls 
have generally done their work in this world! 
How simple were their words, and how patient 
their toil as they taught almost without knowing 
that they were teaching mankind ! 

Even so it is given to us to toil on, and humbly 
do our part, within our little capacity and limited 
opportunities. 

That man is a hero, who bravely, industriously 
and honestly does the best he can. His name 
may not figure in the bulletins of rank or fame, 
but he has done his duty, and the reward of that 
duty will be to enter at last into the rest of God. 

Last summer, in strajdng along the shore of a 
bright little-lake in Minnesota, I picked up some 
beautiful little agates. In all St. Louis, with its 
boasted half million of people, I could only find 
one man who could polish these stones, and that 
man refused to do so under my personal inspec- 



tion and direction, on the ground that his art is a 
secret mystery which he will not permit any one 
to see, lest they should learn to become lapidaries. 

Yet you can scarcely walk two blocks from his 
shop without meeting scores of able-bodied 
loungers, who will beg as medicants, or borrow 
as knaves, rather than go to work and master a 
trade, whereby they could secure an honest living. 

Our country abounds in crude gems, uncut dia- 
monds, unpolished rubies, opals, emeralds, gar- 
nets, topazes, amethysts, and other precious 
stones — which are worthy to be keepsakes for the 
living, heir-looms for posterity. Who is working 
them up ? Nobody. 

Young men who imagine themselves well edu- 
cated and able to do anything, but unable to find 
anything to do, can benefit themselves and others 
by ascertaining unknown and undetected poisons. 
The earth, the air, the water, the leaves and vines, 
all the vegetable and mineral kingdoms, abound 
in deleterious and oftentimes fatal poisons. What 
is malaria ? What caused epizootic a few years 
ago among the horses in this country ? Why did 
the best doctors we had perish last year, trying to 



find the nature, cause and cure for yellow fever ? 
The wise man is yet to come who can answer 
these questions. 

I could go on to give other instances of the un- 
developed industries which are all around us, like 
gold in the quartz, and zinc in the black-jack, or 
blende, glass in the sand, porcelain in the clay, 
and salt in the sea ; but time and proper limits to 
an address, which is not intended as a lecture, 
forbid. 

This branch of our State University is instituted 
in the right direction. In due time it is destined 
to bring rich revenues to the commonwealth. It 
is from such seats of learning the naturalists, 
the discoverers, the inventors, the observers of 
nature must come. It is far better to educate and 
refine, enlighten, inform and enrich the people we 
have already, and those who in the course of na- 
ture will be born to us, than to be yearning for 
the wholesale immigration to our State of people 
who, when they get here, will not exalt the aver- 
age standard of our civilization. It is far better 
to elevate the moral and intellectual standard of 
the people we already have, and make them con- 



tented where they are ; make them progressive 
and law-abiding ; make them intelligent and use- 
ful citizens, so that at home or abroad, to be 
known as a Missourian will be considered as 
.equivalent to belonging to the higher brotherhood 
of educated mankind, worthy of the favored age 
in which we live, and welcome as instructors and 
companions for the good and the honest people 
throughout the world. 

The achievements of science are measured by 
their practical application to the necessities and 
comforts of life. Our State can be benefited by 
opening to our rising generation the flood-gates 
of general knowledge. Arm them with the 
weapons of progress, and they will go on with 
good and great works. The books are open to all. 
Science is no longer occult. If it is mastered only 
by the few, it is not the fault of our institutions, 
or of our legislature. It is because only the few 
have the fortitude, the patience, the inclination to 
devote themselves to noble study. The State can 
encourage, has encouraged, and does encourage 
this inclination. But it cannot create the incli- 
nation. It cannot tutor the unwilling mind. It 



cannot guide the indolent hand. It can only 
leave men free to pursue such avocations as they 
may prefer with the enjoyment of that high lib- 
berty which all recognize as the true liberty, the 
right to do, to think, to speak, and to write as 
they please, so they do not trespass upon the 
rights and the liberties of others. 

No fairer field was ever open to rightful ambi- 
tion, to honest toil, or to useful enterprise. 

It is only necessary to feel the inclination to do 
something, and to acquire the knowledge and 
skill to do it well. The time for half-way work 
is past. Men and women have to know what they 
are about. They must form habits of close ob- 
servation, and devote all their general knowledge 
to perfecting the success of whatever special en- 
gagement they may undertake. Division of labor 
has come. The "jack at all trades " has no trade 
at all. 

The success of mechanical invention in the 
United States is undoubtedly due, in a great meas- 
ure, to the general diffusion of mathematical 
knowledge among the people. 

Whatever may be said of the advancement of 



genera] learning, or of the standard of literary 
excellence, it must be conceded that our educa- 
tional institutions have maintained a high degree 
of discipline and instruction in mathematical 
pursuits. The practical application of these 
studies in manhood, the rich rewards that are 
open in every direction in a growing country for 
those who can devise time-saving and labor- 
saving appliances, have stimulated native inge- 
nuity to its highest exertion ; and as one improve- 
ment suggests another — and another — the pro- 
gress of mechanical skill in America has been 
without a parallel in the history of the world. 

And yet we have reason to believe that this 
department of thought is in its infancy. 

There is room everywhere for new invention. 
The busy brain of the operator and the machinist 
discerns each day a new necessity that becomes 
mother to a new invention. The workman should 
be himself a mathematician and a chemist. The 
advantage is apparent. 

Cheer up, brave young man ! ready to despair 
over problems in Algebra and propositions in 
Geometry, which seem to you destitute of utility. 



347 



Cheer up ! and rally once naore to your plodding 
task. It is tlirougli just such trials and suffer- 
ings that all great minds have become disciplined 
for the labors which have benefited mankind. 
It is not for yourself alone. You belong to 
society, and you ovs^e to it the exertion of your 
best expanded powers. A man amounts to what 
he can accomplish for others — not what he can 
accomplish for himself alone. 

Cheer up ! and never despair ! Be patient, 
but do not wait Work! Study! Think! Labor! 
Exercise ! Make an athlete of yourself, and 
never fear that the occasion will not arise when 
the demands upon you will be greater than all 
the strength and ingenuity your discipline and 
training can give you. Quicken the faculties of 
your mind by dealing with the problems before 
you. Acquaint yourself with the problems that 
other men have solved. Then take up the train 
of thought where they have had to leave it off, 
and add to the coral reef your own contribution. 
It may be small ; but by and by, so built upon, 
it will rise above the waters of ignorance and 
sluggishness, like rugged cliffs above the rage- 
wasting breakers of the sea. 



But mere utility in this life is not the highest 
aim of human study. The intellect that peers 
through and beyond solar system's for " a sky 
beyond the cloud, and a star beyond the sky," 
bends with keen gaze and quenchless longing its 
glance towards immortality. Mere physical ex- 
istence is not enough. It is too restricted. 
Through educated faith men look beyond, and 
yearn for an existence for the soul as infinite in 
duration as the spaces beyond our physical 
vision are measureless in extent. JN^ature shows 
us the chrysalis. Its form changes. Its identity 
remains. Its life — goes on. 

Revelation shows us the resurrection. The 
change is not more incredible. 

There is no conflict between natural religion 
and revealed religion. Those who imagine they 
detect such conflict are simply defectively in- 
formed. They do not know all the facts. They 
cannot comprehend those they do know. Nature 
has to be observed more attentively. Revelation 
has to be studied more carefully. When both 
are understood, both are harmonious. 

The profoundest masters of all the sciences 



349 



which have lifted the veil of terror and of mys- 
tery from nature have been humble believers in 
the revealed will of God. 

The believers in revealed religion cannot justly 
be charged with superstition. The greatest rea- 
soners, thinkers and teachers of every science, 
have arisen from their sublime meditations and 
discoveries with fresh testimony to the moral 
beauty and dignity of those principles which 
are so plainly declared in the Scriptures, that a 
way-faring man, though a fool, need not err 
therein. 

"What Omnipotence ! " exclaims the renowned 
astronomer, as he gazes into the immense vault 
of the heavens, and realizes that his mind is 
overwhelmed with a sense of its utter inadequac}'- 
to grasp the remotest conception of the awful 
majesty, wisdom and power of the Almighty 
Creator. 

"What Omnipotence!" echoes the humble 
believer, who arrives at the same impressions by 
simply accepting the comprehensive truths of 
the Bible. The God of Nature, as found by the 
astronomer, is the same for all practical purposes 
as the God of the Bible. 



A superficial astronomer might be disposed to 
pronounce the whole solar system a failure, be- 
cause he could detect spots upon the sun. The 
wise astronomers know they are there. The sil- 
liest of mankind can become actual experts in 
carping at the religion of the Bible. It is no 
mark of wide thought. Very casual observers 
can discern some spots upon the sun. 

Yet doth the sun shine on — flinging down life 
and light upon the earth, lighting the head-long 
pathways of his planets ; flooding a grand por- 
tion of universal space with radiance ; penetrat- 
ing, vivifying, comforting, healing, gilding the 
twilight clouds with purple glory, and anon wak- 
ing the birds to songs of melody, and the dewy 
rose to sweetness. 

And even so, after centuries of " spot-search- 
ing " by skeptics, doth the " Sun of Righteous- 
ness " shed moral radiance upon mankind, mak- 
ing virtue lovely ; home, dear and peaceful ; jus- 
tice, venerable ; gratitude, noble ; divine love, at- 
tainable ; faith, inspirational ; charity, commend- 
able ; death, contemptible ; cowardice, impossi- 
ble — painting the cold gray mists of parting life 



351 



with the rainbows of Hope ; robing old age in 
the sunset drapery of golden skies ; and soothing 
even the darkness of the shadow of Death with 
an unfaltering trust and reliance upon Him who 
doeth all things w^ell ! 

What God decrees, child of His love, 
Take patientl}^, though it maj^ prove 
The storm that wrecks th}' treasure liere ; 
Be comforted : thou needst not fear 

What pleases God. 

The wisest will, is God's own will, 
Rest on this anchor and be still ; 
For peace around th}^ path will flow. 
When oul}^ wishing here below 

What pleases God. 

The truest heart is God's own heart, 
Which bids thy grief and fear depart ; 
Protecting, guiding, day and night, 
The soul that welcomes here aright 

What pleases God. 

Then let the crowd around thee seize 
The joys that for a season please. 
But willingly their paths forsake, 
And for thy blessed portion take 

What pleases God. 



Thy heritao;e is safe in Heaven, 
There shall the crown of joy be given ; 
There shalt ihou hear, and see and know. 
As thou couldst never here below, 

What pleases God. 



THE STUDY OF AET. 

In a former address delivered before this 
branch of our State University, it was my privi- 
lege to submit some remarks upon the Study of 
]!!![ature. Your indulgence is now asked to a few 
observations upon the Study of Art. 

Study of any kind is ennobling. It is a strug- 
gle for increase of intellectual power. It is a 
step forward. It is effort for superiority — not 
over others, but over self. He who studies truly, 
studies to ascertain something that is not already 
known. And yet he has studied well who has 
acquired a small part of that knowledge which 
"Learning with her ample page, rich with the 
spoils of time," is' ready to impart. To study 
truly is to read, to listen, to comprehend, to know, 
to do, and then to teach. The main purpose of 
a liberal education is to learn how to study. 



When this art of study is once mas-tered, and 
the faculties are disciplined to its exercise, there 
are no limits to the activities or the ingenuity of 
the human mind. 

The study of Universal Nature lifts the mind 
to infinite and sublime contemplations. The 
study of art unlocks the mysterious doors of 
knowledge which would otherwise remain im- 
penetrable. Before exploring nature, one should 
master many arts. Before mastering any art, 
the oracles of nature must be consulted again 
and again. 

All schools of philosophy agree in the theory 
that the prehistoric condition of the human race 
was rude and barbarous. 

Men found subsistence in the chase, and in 
spontaneous fruits, herbs and vegetables. At a 
later period they lived upon their flocks and the 
crudest agriculture. 

The vestiges of primitive existence, which 
reach farthest back in time, afford evidence that 
the art of Pottery was probably the first which 
engaged the ingenuity of men. AVeapons of the 
chase and of warfare were necessarily of early 



contrivance. * * A writer has said that a 
gentleman of that early period would walk out 
of his cave in the morning, armed with a club, to 
kill a snake or a frog for his breakfast, which he 
would eat raw, until his wife and children, who 
amused themselves in his absence by making- 
mud pies, discovered that clay baked in the sun 
would hold water, and from that all the earthen 
cooking utensils and decorated china and porce- 
lain had their start. 

It is natural to infer that men studied self- 
preservtion before they did comfort, and comfort 
before they did ornament, and that the things 
which were necessary for existence were studied 
before the things which afforded ease, and the 
things which afforded ease before the things 
which were merely decorative, and the things 
which were decorative before the things which 
were ideal. But it is almost certain that the use- 
ful as well as the ornamental arts had humble 
beginnings, and oftentimes accidental origin. 
Hieroglyphics were used. before letters, and let- 
tt-'rs were used for thousands of years before the 
invention of printing, and printing was known 



355 



as an art long before its magic power was fully 
realized. Little by little, step by step, art lias 
grown from the symbol of the savage to the sig- 
nal of the electrician. 

From feeble beginnings and art without a mas- 
ter, men advanced in knowledge, paused, pon- 
dered, plodded — advanced again, and again went 
on to the mastery — little by little, step by step. 
Almost everything was a mystery at first. With 
superstitious awe the ancients enclosed the spot 
that had been struck by lightning, because they 
thus would mark the place whereon had fallen 
the wrathful thunderbolt of Jove. Their solemn 
proceeding would appear very ridiculous to a 
modern telegraph operator whose hand is accus- 
tomed to dally with electricity as a useful toy. 
Little by little, step by step — from the kite- 
string of Franklin to the wire of Morse, and the 
miracles of Edison — little by little, step by step, 
science has discovered, and art has utilized dis- 
covery, until all mystery has vanished, and the 
phenomena of nature demonstrate with unerring 
and mathematical conclusiveness the existence 
of a skillful and intelligent Creator. The works 



of art are the works of man. The works of na- 
ture are the works of God. 

The study of art is in its infancy. What has 
been done is only an incentive to further study, 
and a proof of what study can do. 

When one visits a zoological garden, and sees 
how the brutal strength of the blood-thirsty tiger 
and the roar of the raging lion are converted 
into a mere amusement for the children of civi- 
lized man, it seems a long way back to that pe- 
riod of humble intelligence, on the purt of our 
ancestors, when such stupid wild beasts were al- 
lowed to ravage and lay desolate whole areas of 
country and fill their inhabitants with terror. 
Physically, one man is no more able to grapple 
with one of these monsters now than then; but by 
means of those agencies of destruction and de- 
fense, and appliances for asserting the dominion 
of mind, which are now employed, brute force is 
rendered impotent, and becomes even pitiable in 
the relentless grasp of intellectual power. 

How haughtily the elephant must have sneered 
at the first trap ! How the lion must have roared 
at the first cage! How the panther must have 



357 



screamed as it iDeat tile bars of its first prison I 
How the leviatliaii must have splurged and 
spouted and lashed the bosom of the mighty 
deep at the first hook ! 

Little by little, step by step, men found some- 
thing more to subdue than beasts of the field and 
monsters of the deep. There must be shelter 
from the storm. There must be safety from the 
flood. There must be shade from the fiery rays 
of the summer sun, and refuge from the winter's 
frosts. There must be home, an abiding place 
for the family, where the sick could be nursed, 
the helpless nurtured, the aged cherished, and 
the weary find rest. The torrent must be re- 
sisted, the river must be bridged, and the spray- 
fringed billows of the ocean must be traversed. 
The brute strength of savage men, bent upon 
conquest and destruction, must be met and dealt 
with as the brute strength of savage beasts. And 
after peace had been conquered by the superior 
implements of warfare and the dauntless brain of 
superior generalship, the arts of war must then 
be followed by the far more philosophical arts of 
peace. There must be agriculture. There must 



be contrivances for storing up supplies against 
hunger and thirst. There must be store houses. 
There must be raiment. And when all these are 
provided, when there is no longer dread of beast 
or monster, or savage foe, or flood, or storm, or 
hunger or cold, there must be something to do, 
there must be something to think — there must 
be occupation for the brain and for the hand. 
What has been gained must be preserved and 
transmitted to posterity, that they might begin 
where their fathers had left off, and move for- 
ward in the grand march of human progress to 
the music of human ambition for a higher des- 
tiny. 

It was the mission of art to rescue perishable 
things from destruction and decay, and make 
them endure ; to snatch dying things from death, 
and make them live ; to portray or carve out 
beautiful things and make them for monumental 
memories, fadeless from generation unto genera- 
tion ; to perceive an angelic form captive in a 
block of stone, and cut it out; to fasten some 
fleeting thought on canvas, that it might dwell 
again in other minds and revive a sense of beau- 



359 



ty in other ages and for eyes unborn ; to create 
some strong ideal resembling in its imaginative 
production tbe inventive faculties of God him- 
self, and thereby realize that man was indeed 
made in the image of his maker ; to inspire the 
beholder v^ith sentiments of undying glory and 
immortal fame ; to imbue the bosoms of those 
whose ephemeral existence mocked their vain 
longings for immortality with patient but con- 
fiding hope for life beyond the grave, and impart 
to the heart bowed down with woe a tender con- 
sciousness of Heavenly love, reigning supreme 
over and above and beyond the sorrows of this 
earth. 

Science may be said to reside in the brain. It 
has its home in mere intellect. Art must be the 
offspring of brain and hand combined. One may 
know how a thing ought to be done, and not 
know how to execute it. And to approach the 
perfection of art there must be a combination of 
brain, hand and heart. There must be not only 
thought, but work. There must be not only 
work, but skill or craft. There must be not only 
skill, but there must be a feeling, an imagination. 



360 



an earnest meaning in the work that will bring 
into exercise every power and faculty that dis- 
tinguishes man from the brute creation. Hence 
higher civilization has been inseparable from the 
cultivation and supremacy displayed in the arts, 
which by way of distinction are designated as 
the Fine Arts. 

To study the history of art is to study the his- 
tory of civilization, and the history of the human 
race — from the foundations of the world. 

No one can fathom the sea of antiquity. It is 
all conjecture beyond a certain limit. But this 
we do know, that there was no such thing as his- 
tory until the arts of drawing and writing had 
progressed sufficiently to enable men to preserve 
history. And yet in that remote period men 
must have lived, and thought, and suffered, and 
fought and struggled, and died, pretty much as 
they do now. 

There are two generally approved definitions 
of art. One looking to the distinction between 
the artiiftcial and the natural ; the other looking 
to the distinction between the artistic and the 
scientific. For the purposes of this address, the 



361 



word will be used in its widest sense, embracing 
in the study of art all that concerns the artisan 
and the artist, and considering the latter as only 
a refinement upon the other. First in order, 
therefore, let us consider the art of the mechanic 
— the man who not only knows something, but 
knows how to do something, and to do it loell. 
Science must lead the way, but art must blaze 
out the path in the march of man through this 
wilderness world. It should be remembered, 
therefore, that the study of art, as a whole, em- 
braces both meanings — art as distinguished from 
nature, and art as distinguished from science. 

Theodore Winthrop says : — 

" I reverence as much a great mechanic, in de- 
gree, perhaps in kind, as I do any great seer into 
the mysteries of nature. He is a King, whoever 
can wield the great forces where other men have 
not the power. And none can control material 
forces without a profound knowledge, stated or 
unstated, of the great masterly laws that order 
every organism, from dust to man, and a man- 
freighted world. A great mechanic ranks with 
the great chiefs of his time — prophets, poets, 
orators, statesmen." 



3C.'2 



This trilaute to the great mechanic is no more 
than just, and there is due a proportionate share 
of credit to every man who makes himself the 
master of a trade. There is nothing in manual 
industry to dwarf the mental powers. Benjamin 
Franklin was a printer ; Andrew Johnson was a 
tailor; Peter Cooper was a cabinet-maker; Hugh 
Miller was a stone-mason ; Elihu Burritt was a 
blacksmith. 

And yet philosophy, politics, philanthropy, 
theology and philology have produced no exam- 
ples more brilliant or more profound than such 
men as these — men who began thinking as they 
began working, at the bench, the hammer, the 
anvil or the chisel, and studied as they went 
along. I mention these names among thousands 
as eminent, because they have lived in our own 
era. They are not too far off to be known. 
There is a disposition in this country to under- 
rate the high esteem in which the mechanic 
should be held. It is to him we owe the safety 
of our houses ; the vehicles we ride and travel in ; 
the pavements we walk upon; the implements 
wherewith our food is cooked; the clothes we 



363 



wear, the table we eat from, and the articles used 
in serving and taking our meals ; the beds we 
sleep upon ; and the very roof over our heads. 

To him we owe every comfort, from the knife 
and fork to the grand piano ; to him we owe 
every improvement in the useful things which 
have lifted men from the condition of cave- 
dwellers, to be inmates of the palace. To him we 
owe the conveniences which make a modern cot- 
tage far more habitable than the ancient castle. 
To him we owe the steam engine ; the railway 
car ; the printing and the binding of our books ; 
the instruments with which the surgeon saves a 
life, and the light-house that warns the sailor from 
shipwreck. 

The mechanic who conscientiously studies the 
art of his handicraft, abstains from vice, practices 
industry, and cultivates his mind while resting 
his body, is a grander example for either prince 
or peasant than the greatest nobleman who ever 
inherited estates which the toil of some other man 
had earned, or which the greed or cunning of 
some other man had accumulated. Give me the 
man who has the health, the manhood, and the 



364 



honesty to earn his own living by being of use to 
society, and I will wear him in my heart as 
one of the jewels of its affections, in prefer- 
ence to the most scientific idler who ever hired a 
substitute to rob the wool from the sheep's back. 
It is a grand thing to be useful to others — to be 
a benefactor. The mechanic is a benefactor. It 
rather improves him to be a student as well. 

It is a curious fact, that the most successful 
contrivances of art have been perfected by imi- 
tations of the mechanisms of nature. Take, for 
instance, the instrument used by the photo- 
grapher. It is constructed as much as possible 
after the fashion of the natural eye of animals. 

The duck furnishes the best model for a ship 
or boat. It is the opinion of scientists, that the 
machine of the future for navigating the air must 
be discovered by a still closer study of the 
structure of the wing of the wild fowl. 

Wherever nature has solved a mechanical prob- 
lem by a joint, a tendon, a pulley, a lens, a valve, 
or a movement, no human ingenuity has been 
able to achieve more than a successful imitation — 
and the contriving mind of the inventor realizes 



365 



at every step that a far more ingenious contriv- 
ing mind has studied the subject before him, upon 
a much grander scale, and embracing a widely 
more general application. The daintiest joints 
and wings of the insect afford evidences of plan, 
fitness, harmony, utility — the adaptation of means 
to an end — in a word, mechanical skill. And yet 
revolving planets and solar systems sweep with 
majestic regularity, order and precision, through 
the yawning realms of infinite and unfathomable 
space, guided with inexorable precision by the 
same Almighty hand — directed by the same Al- 
mighty mind. 

In our own beloved country the mechanic is 
accorded the highest honors, and so far from be- 
ing a drawback to preferment, to hav§ been a me- 
chanic is the surest road to wealth and distinction . 
The bank presidents and railroad kings, and 
mining magnates, and solid corporation directors, 
generally begin as plain, humble, honest, careful 
mechanics. Little by little, step by step, they buy 
up the stock and own the mill, the factory, the 
foundry, the railroad, the bridge, and the bank. 
It is a short step then to the chair of the governor, 
a senator, or a president. 



366 



They can hire lawyers and doctors, and editors, 
and preachers, and all sorts of college and uni- 
versity graduates to work for them. No country 
is so deeply indebted to its mechanics as the 
United States of America. In less than one hun- 
dred years of constitutional government, the me- 
chanics of this country have done more to build it 
up and make it known abroad, and make it rich 
and comfortable at home, than all the soldiers 
and sailors, and writers and doctors, and editors 
and soft-handed tourists put together. The world 
owes to the American mechanic the cotton gin ; 
the planing machine ; the corn planter ; the grain 
mower and reaper ; the rotary printing press ; the 
navigation of water by steam ; the hot air engine; 
the sewing machine ; the India rubber industry ; 
the machine for the manufacture of horse shoes ; 
the sand blast for carving ; the gauge lathe ; the 
grain elevator; the machine for manufacturing 
ice on a large scale ; the sleeping car for rail- 
ways ; the electric magnet ; the telephone, and 
the electric light. 

The mechanics of this country read and think, 
and keep up with the times. Their genius for 



367 



practical utility is the wonder of the whole world. 
They are no mopers and dreamers, but downright 
workers, and they study mechanical art to such 
direct purpose, that through their industry and 
their inventions they have become the practical 
redeemers of the heathen and the teachers of all 
mankind. The ship of the merchant carries the 
missionary of the cross, and the pictures of civili- 
zation. The sailor and the manufacturer are the 
pioneer teachers of all the world, and the exten- 
sion of commerce means the diffusion of light and 
knowledge wherever the trader may go. 

Let us now take a glance at that division of our 
subject which relates to the study of art in its 
more refined and ornamental signification. We 
are so accustomed to the comforts of life, which 
are due to the study of mechanical art, that we 
long for something more. When the immediate 
wants of existence are supplied, we begin to 
suffer for imaginary necessities. The soul must 
have food as well as the body. The disposition 
must be assuaged, or else melancholy and gloom 
will settle down like spectres at the bounteous 
board, and mar the appetite for life. 



3<>S 



Pictures and statues make us dwell in tlie 
future and in the past, and thus prolong existence. 
They make us conscious of infinite duration, and 
thus we realize that the soul within us is im- 
mortal. 

The study of fine arts, as they are called by 
way of distinction, leads us up and up, little by 
little, step by step, until we stand in view of the 
sublime, the beautiful, the infinite, the everlast- 
ing. The use of light and shade, of lines and 
colors, of form and proportion, in order to impart 
impressions and feelings, rather than distinct 
ideas, may be called the instrumentalities of art. 
But they are not art itself. Art is the force be- 
hind them. True art combines the energy of in- 
vention with the skill which discerns beauty as 
in a bright vision, and transfixes it to canvas, or 
carves it out of stone so faithfully, that others 
may find the soul of which that beauty was born 
by gazing upon the external form. The copying 
of form is only the foundation of real art. Carv- 
ing preceded drawing ; sculpture preceded paint- 
ing. The first artists dealt with images of forms. 
Then followed successive advances from images 



369 



to ideas, and art became ideal rather tlian formal. 
Thenceforward art signified the material expres- 
sion, not only of thought, but of emotion. Archi- 
tecture, the grandest of all arts, because it em- 
braces and finds room for all, stimulated the 
sculptor and the painter to nobler and loftier de- 
signs. The genius of man laid hold upon the 
solid rock, making a marble Yenus almost 
breathe with passion ; a marble Milo almost roar 
with pain ; a marble Laocoon almost melt with 
agony and despair. 

Whether architecture grew from the mound to 
the pyramid ; from the pyramid to the temple ; 
from the temple to the palace in India, or Arabia, 
or Assyria, or Egypt, must ever remain in dis- 
pute. But certain it is that it grew, and that it 
grew by small degrees. 

Cadmus is said to have carried letters into 
Greece about the year 1400 before the Christian 
era. 

That older civilizations found means to pre- 
serve written history before that, there is abun- 
dant evidence. 

But the most we can gather from such remote 



370 



antiquity becomes of secondary importance to 
the student of art. It is a labor ending in the 
gratification of mere curiosity. It is enough for 
practical purposes to know that little by little, 
step by step, art grew from the pottery of the 
mound builders to the obelisks of Egypt, the as 
yet unequalled statues of Greece, and the awe- 
inspiring frescoes of Rome — " the eternal city 
that sat upon her seven hills, and from her 
throne of beauty ruled the world." 

Whenever a nation grew strong and warlike, 
and pushed its conquests into the territory of 
older and richer countries, the spoils that were 
always carried away with the greatest zeal were 
the celebrated works of art. Out of the cruel- 
ties and hardships of war humanity found at 
least this consolation, that the arts and refine- 
ments of the conquered people achieved a sort 
of victory over the conquerors. 

Religious fervor imbued its devotees with cer- 
tain tastes and inspirations that gave tone to the 
style of architecture, and of sculpture and paint- 
ing, which prevailed among the various peoples 
of the earth, and the philosophy of art became 



371 



tinged everywhere by the customs, habits and 
religious beliefs of the peculiar people from 
whom the artists had their origin. 

The learning and the arts of the East and of 
Egypt went to Greece, from Greece to Rome, from 
Rome to Western Europe, and from Western 
Europe to America — the land reserved by Heaven 
to be the last and best home of the arts, as it is 
the last and best home of philosophy, learning, 
science and civil government, founded upon prin- 
ciples of constitutional liberty. There never has 
existed a time or a place in the history of the 
world so auspicious for the student of art as this 
country at the present time. 

Men are amassing fortunes ; the l!^ational and 
State governments are erecting great public 
buildings ; education is cherished as the pearl 
of great price ; refined taste is cultivated at 
home, and enriched by swift and luxurious trips 
around the world; the arts of engraving and 
photography have made those who have never 
traveled familiar with all the most admired and 
celebrated works of art in every part of the 
world ; and there is no reason why the American 



372 



architect, the American engineer, and the Ameri- 
can artist should not achieve, as well as the 
American mechanic, the highest honors which 
the world can lavish upon genius. The time is 
at hand when these things must follow as a 
natural sequence of the wonderful progress our 
country has made in every field of intellectual 
development and material resources. 

When Phidias, the greatest of the Greek sculp- 
tors, had completed his masterpiece, a statue of 
Athena, which was massively inlaid with ivory 
and gold furnished by the State, he was falsely 
accused of having appropriated some of the ex- 
pensive materials to his own use. In order to 
refute his accusers, he asked that the costly ma- 
terial be taken from the statue and weighed. 
This they refused to do, and yet, actuated by 
political animosity towards Pericles, who was 
the friend and patron of Phidias, they caused 
him to be cast into prison, where, stung to death 
by their ingratitude, he languished and died. 

The genius of Michael Angelo Buonarotti 
was fettered by political persecution the better 
portion of his life ; and the personal biography 



373 



of nearly every great artist discloses a story of 
patient apprenticeship, terrible labors, mortify- 
ing neglect, the envy of rivals, and the harsh 
injustice of critics. And yet there is such a 
fascination in the study of the line arts, that the 
sorrows and vicissitudes of the artist's life have 
been borne with the heroic fortitude and resigna- 
tion of martyrdom itself. The true student of 
art has incessant occupation, infinite sources of 
thought, grand day dreams, endless invention, 
exquisite accuracy ; and when fame and fortune 
do smile, there is such a triumphant looking for- 
ward to future renown, that ambition for un- 
dying glory nerves the trembling hand, thrills 
the swelling vein, and assuages the throbbing 
heart. Science consists in knowing, but art con- 
sists in doing. And whoever has the wisdom to 
le^-rn, the capacity to understand, the invention 
to design, the art to execute, and the patience to 
labor, will realize that in the study of art there 
are fountains of more unfailing joy than in any 
pursuit which can engage the faculties and stim- 
ulate the energies of man. 
The cultivation of taste for the fine arts has 



874 



lately received a powerful impetus in our own 
State, 'by the dedication to public use of a mag- 
nificent building, a Museum of Fine Arts, by Mr. 
Wayman Crow, at St. Louis. There will be 
gathered the art treasures which are to embellish 
and characterize our civilization. There the stu- 
dent of art will find the masterpieces of great 
artists ; and let us hope that its enduring walls 
will be enriched by gems of beauty that slumber 
now within the soul of some Missouri boy, as yet 
" to fortune and to fame unknown." 



375 



Youth. 

There are gains for all our losses, 

There are balms for all our pain ; 
But when youth — the dream — departs, 
It takes something from our hearts, 
And it never comes again. 

We are stronger, we are "better, 

Under manhood's sterner reign ; 
Still we feel that something sweet 
Followed youth, with flying feet, 
And can never come again. 

Something beautiful is vanished. 

And we sigh for it in vain : 
We seek it everywhere-^^^ 
On the earth and in the air — 
But it never comes again. 



June 5, 1878, 



376 



